Throwback Thursday: Annamaniacs - It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To

The day of going back in time to when I had a newspaper column and a houseful of kids. *****

This column was published in 2006 - when I was a little more innocent and naive. *****

It all started with Burperware.

Someone in his infinite wisdom figured out a way for the average housewife to earn money from home.

So they created a line of plastics that helped a woman keep her leftovers safe. A major consideration at the time of the cold war when you never knew if you would be nuked, but at least your food would be okay, locked in it’s fresh seal container and stored in an appliance that could withstand any bomb the Russians could send.

And all a woman had to do was invite her friends over and convince them that they couldn’t do without it. Once she did that, then her friends would do the same thing, inviting their friends over to their homes, and so on, and so on, and so on.

Not only was Burperware invented, but so was the home party system of selling.

I admit, I have been involved in various parts of this system.

I have been to candle parties, clothing parties, Burperware parties, cookware p

arties, popcorn parties, children’s toy parties, and crystal parties as a guest.

I have attempted hosting. Cleaning my house until it gleamed, baking my lemon pound cake, and then sitting alone in my living room, wondering where all those people who said they would come, were.

I have actually been a business woman selling, Suzy Q Cosmetics, You Too Can Be Creative Stitching Kits (and it’s subsidiary You Too Can Be Creative Silk Plants), Fourth Street Jewellery, and My House is Not a Home Unless I Have A Bunch of Decorative Stuff.

And this is just the home party businesses. I watched as my then husband attempted selling foil insulation, herbal remedies that tasted so bad they must be good, water purifiers, insurance, and a new system of carpet cleaning that didn’t even get the carpet wet, or clean.

I saw people all around me appearing to be successful and making a lot of money. At least according to the n

umbers that they shared. Of course they don’t share how much they actually spend on the business, but that’s beside the point.

“It will be easy. You just have to work at it and you too will be rich! First make a list of everyone you know, you should come up with a hundred people, easily.”

“A hundred people! I’m home all day with toddlers whose big social event is when they go to the health clinic to get inoculations. I haven’t spoken to a grown up in five years.”

“Well then, put those health unit nurses on your list. And don’t forget about all those people at church, and your children’s school teachers, and your friends…”

I hate the phone. It’s an invention created to ring just at the moment that you’ve managed to wiggle your way behind the dryer to pick up those lonely socks that disappeared five years ago. But I use the thing anyway.

“Hello, Sally? I’m wondering if you could help me with something…”

“Sure, Anna, what would you like? Do you need help cleaning your house? Would you like a meal? Do you need a babysitter? A ride? Fresh bread? Your house painted?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I’ve started a new business and I would like you to be my first hostess. It’s really simple, all you have to do is invite your friends over…”

“I have something planned that night.”

“What night?”

“Whatever night you were going to do this.”

“Well, see, that would be up to you. You have first dibs on a night, but the opportunity isn’t going to last long because my calendar will fill up fast and you’ll lose the chance to get free gifts.”

“You know, I just remembered, I have to go now because, uhm, because, my dog has to be at class.”

“Maybe I could call you later. You know I have a cute little candy dish to give you just for booking.”

“I gave up candy yesterday."

“Or you can choose this adorable snowman candle holder that plays “Winter Wonderland” when you light it…”

“Yeah, I’m afraid of fire…and snowmen.”

“Do you know anyone who might be interested…”

“I don’t know anyone. I’m at home with toddlers all day and I haven’t spoken to a grown up in five years. I gotta go…bye.”

I convince myself I’m making money as I lug stuff in only ten trips in and out of people’s homes.

I remind myself I’m making money as I deal with out of stock products and minimal sales quotas.

I extol the virtues of being in my own business as I attempt to recruit others to this new way of life.

I tell myself success is just around the corner if I hang on long enough as I stare at the red numbers.

I quit each one vowing never to do it again.

I end up doing it again.

The last one “My House Is Not a Home Unless I Have a Bunch of Decorative Stuff” I timed at the beginning of the current craze of everyone getting rid of everything they have ever owned except for their lazy-boy and their tv.

I realized I was in trouble during one home show I was presenting. I showed them the lovely pictures, and the china, and the candles, and the figurines, and silk plants and suddenly the topic turned into how everyone was dejunking their homes and getting rid of their pictures and silk plants and figurines and their homes were so much nicer without all that “stuff” around.

It turns out they had all come for some cake.

So I have officially quit, once and for all. I will not listen to spiels about the wonders of a new long distance phone company, knives that cut through glass, or underwear that will make me look like I’ve lost a hundred pounds.

Besides, I can buy all that stuff cheaper at CeilingMart.