Discomfort 101

Hubby has a friend. If you've read The Dark Maddness recently, it's the friend I spoke of there. Yeah. Him. He's not a real close friend, but what I would call a close associate. Once a month or so, he has a party in his shop and it's a drop in type thing. Because he usually has it on a Thursday night, it isn't as though people stay all night and end up sloppy drunk. Sometimes Hubby goes for awhile, sometimes he doesn't. It is usually a bunch of the locals there who Hubby grew up with and he is a very "people person". I tease him and call him "Chatty Cathy"... for those of you old fogey's who can remember the doll.

Once a year, this friend has a birthday party in his shop. For himself. It's just a bigger version of the monthly get-together. Hubby will go, if he remembers. It's usually on a weekend, so that makes it a little easier to go and still do something the next day.

Me? I'm invited. Me? I don't go. Time to 'fess up. I really don't like people. I like some people. I love some people. For the most part, I'm very, very, uncomfortable around people. I've never been good at small talk. I don't like to eat around others (family doesn't count). I don't like to drink alcohol around others in fear of what inhibition might be set loose and which brain cell will suddenly decide to open my mouth and tell most of these people what I really think of them.

It isn't that I think I'm better than they are. Truly that's not it. I find their two-face game playing to be a bit much. I pretty much say what I think and if I can't, then I'm tongue-tied. Maybe it's the old "if you can't say something nice, say nothing at all"... or maybe not. This group divides into the males (guarding the keg) and the females (guarding the food). Most of these people grew up together. A good portion of them are related. Another goodly portion have kids the same ages that go to school together. Last, there are the oddballs. That would be me.

I'm one of the people who came from "outside". I'm "different". I'm not them. I don't care to criticize another woman's weight, dress, lifestyle, or parenting skills. I especially don't want to do it when she gets up from the table to go across the room for more adult beverages and/or food. Will they be talking about me when I get up? You betcha. Are they perfect specimens? Hell no. Doesn't matter.

This weekend is the friends' 50th birthday party celebration. Hubby has more or less begged me to go, promising we'll leave early if I do. He has been so kind to me for so many years, letting me off the hook and making excuses for me for not putting in an appearance. I've softened. I'll go. I'm not excited about it, but I'm not dreading it.... yet. I'm just numb. If I didn't love my husband so much, you can bet I wouldn't be doing this. Damn.

If nothing else, maybe it'll be good blog fodder. I'll go with that for awhile...