George and I were recently invited to a lovely Volunteer of the Year Appreciation dinner for a friend of ours. Country club. Dressy. Cocktails, dinner, warm speeches .... It was sure to be a lovely night out to celebrate the well deserved honor of a fun, benevolent and hard working lady.

Another invited friend asked if we'd like to sit together. Sure thing! She said her husband would likely arrive before she did, but still be tardy for the start of cocktail hour. I said we'd save us all seats.

We arrived right on time. The dining room  was beautifully set up. We noticed several tables with reserved signs, and several other larger tables without them. Then we spotted a table for four. "This one, George! It'll give us a more intimate chance to visit."

Since cocktails were being served in the bar area, I prowled through my handbag for something to put at each place to signify occupancy. Since I had a large-ish bag, inside were many smaller bags. (I fool myself into thinking this is a system.) I put my sunglass case at one setting, my makeup bag at another, my You Are My Sunshine bag at the third, and a little pouch containing my ear buds at the last. Then I remembered I had a credit card in one of those bags, so I swapped it out for yet another teensy bag filled with random items. Off to the bar we went.

After we caught up with our tablemates and it was time to be seated, we sauntered to "our" table. When we arrived, two waitresses were in the process of lifting the table wings and adding two more place settings. A quirky reservation mishap caused the last-minute necessity. We like meeting new people too, so no biggie.

We seated ourselves while the waitresses finished their expansion project. Then one of them looked at us and said, "Your table is missing a napkin. We know we put four of them here, and now there are only three." We looked at each other and shrugged. Then the other waitress repeated that they knew they'd put four napkins at this table. It began to sound like an accusation. Again, we shrugged, offered some verbal "We have no idea where your napkin went" sentiments, and, speaking for myself, bristled a bit. After their THIRD mention of the missing napkin, and how they KNEW there were four napkins put on our table, I began to grow annoyed. What the heck?

After the waitresses finished fussing around and moved on, I snarked about them. Nothing like being invited to a fancy-schmansy evening out, only to be accused of stealing the linens. Why would any of us want a blue napkin anyway?!

The next morning, I dug deep into my handbag (the windup) to pull out my wallet, which had gotten buried after all my table-saving rearranging. That's when I felt the fabric ... of the nicely folded "missing" napkin. Apparently in my use-this, not-that, table-saving rearranging, I'd accidentally lifted it.

Oh, boy.

I called my tablemate friend and told her the story. She laughed. "Only you, Charlene." I told her how I'd soon be returning that napkin, offering my sincere apologies. We speculated as to whether or not the waitresses had, from afar, watched me fussing about and witnessed what to her could have looked like a "shell game" heist, thinking maybe if they confronted me, I'd be embarrassed enough to cough it up.

In the end, after the humiliation finally settled and the napkin was returned, I gave thanks for moments like this. Moments which remind me that sometimes the problem IS me.

I hope I remember this the next time I am quick to point a finger, quick to bristle under the spotlight of an accusation, quick to believe, SHE DID THAT ON PURPOSE! Because maybe, just maybe, she didn't. 

Wanna follow me on FaceBook to stay connected between TwinkleGrams?