vanity and church meals

Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.
When I was in high school, I worried too much about what people thought of me. Now I've grown up, and I still worry too much about what people think of me. Only the things I worry about have changed.
For example, after I got married, for the first time I had to prepare a meal for church potlucks. Gone were the days of just helping Mom. Suddenly I was responsible. What if no one liked what I took? What if no one even took a bite? Or worse, what if they took a bite but everyone thought it was bad? I could just envision walking up to the table, there being one dish on the table totally full and untouched, and it being mine. And of course, all the women would turn and look pityingly on the poor, wretched housewife who can't fix anything desirable or nutritious. So being the common sense, unvain person that I was, I focused on desserts - something everyone loves. Until you have the day when the cake falls flat and looks horrendous. Now if I were the creative, domestic engineer that a friend of mine is, I would creatively flip my cake container upside down, chop the cake into pieces and crumbles, then melt the icing and pour over it, making a unique blend of punchbowl cake and dump cake, which everyone raves and loves and there's never a crumb left in her bowl. That's actually how she came up with the recipe - her cake went flat. But me? No, I go to tears and grumble and have a grand 'ol pity party and wallow in my failures as a cook and housewife.
How stupid is that? I mean, in all my years of church life, I can't think of one potluck where there was a dish left untouched. And no one will know whether or not a dish is mine. (I mean, come on, that's why your name sticker always goes on the bottom, right?)
And then after a time or two of being tormented by witnessing all of this, my dear husband dryly commented, "I didn't know potlucks were this complicated." And his majestic solution was that rather than stress out over everything, we could always go to Bojangles and pick up a bucket of chicken and I could focus on veggies and dessert, which are much easier for me to prepare. And our first meal at CBC, I took him up on that offer. After all, at family reunions and church potlucks growing up, I always went for the KFC bucket. So I'm slowly coming around. I think I've come up with a meat dish or two that's okay-tasting and I can easily make for a Sunday, but my husband has a point - potlucks were not designed to be complicated.
Now if I can find non-Grandma looking dress shoes that feel comfortable!