Party Like It's Awkward
Sometimes you just need a good 'ol prompt to get you going:
“When you can’t be yourself” --Via @journalprompts
I play with the folds of my itchy dress. Why do social gatherings always involve uncomfortable clothing? I gaze at the others. I was coaxed into this. My friend had finally pushed my last button.
“It will be fun,” she had said. “It won’t matter if you don’t know anyone.” As I stand near the wall, hoping that some sort of four legged creature lives in this unfamiliar abode, I clear my throat and attempt to assume the Joe Cool position.
My friend had abandoned me for her coworkers. It seems gossip is the hot topic tonight, and she is hungry for it. I issue an unconcerned “cool” nod whenever someone walks past me. People I don’t know are mingling around the TV, the buffet, and the liquor. If only they had a cat or dog…You don't need to pretend to be fitting in a sea of strangers when there is a pet to play with.
I watch a trio of men my age chat by the couch. They are talking about computers. I actually smile. Finally. Something I can talk about. I listen and wait for the perfect moment to approach them. Jokes are always great, aren’t they? I’ve got the perfect one in my head. It will fit right in with ports, male and female connectors, and cabling.
“What did the port say to the RJ-45 cable?” I ask, cocking a grin. The males eye me with an unsettling, wary hesitation. “Oh my!” I squeak. No! I missed the punch line! I clear my throat and try to smile, but they mumble excuses like needing to refill their drinks. I suddenly realize that I had not been Joe Cool leaning against the wall with a hearty swag.
I had been Socially Awkward Penguin with two left flappers the entire time.
I turn and survey the so called party. Would they notice if I slip out? I wonder. I don’t even know what I am doing there anymore. It’s all unnecessary suffering to me. I look over at my friend. Her sloppy movements and glass of whiskey tell me that she has forgotten all about me.
Yep. I’m out. I’ll sneak out the front door, and if anyone asks questions, I’ll just say I’m out for a smoke.
“When you can’t be yourself” --Via @journalprompts
This is not a true story, but who hasn't been the awkward outsider before?
I play with the folds of my itchy dress. Why do social gatherings always involve uncomfortable clothing? I gaze at the others. I was coaxed into this. My friend had finally pushed my last button.
“It will be fun,” she had said. “It won’t matter if you don’t know anyone.” As I stand near the wall, hoping that some sort of four legged creature lives in this unfamiliar abode, I clear my throat and attempt to assume the Joe Cool position.
My friend had abandoned me for her coworkers. It seems gossip is the hot topic tonight, and she is hungry for it. I issue an unconcerned “cool” nod whenever someone walks past me. People I don’t know are mingling around the TV, the buffet, and the liquor. If only they had a cat or dog…You don't need to pretend to be fitting in a sea of strangers when there is a pet to play with.
I watch a trio of men my age chat by the couch. They are talking about computers. I actually smile. Finally. Something I can talk about. I listen and wait for the perfect moment to approach them. Jokes are always great, aren’t they? I’ve got the perfect one in my head. It will fit right in with ports, male and female connectors, and cabling.
“What did the port say to the RJ-45 cable?” I ask, cocking a grin. The males eye me with an unsettling, wary hesitation. “Oh my!” I squeak. No! I missed the punch line! I clear my throat and try to smile, but they mumble excuses like needing to refill their drinks. I suddenly realize that I had not been Joe Cool leaning against the wall with a hearty swag.
I had been Socially Awkward Penguin with two left flappers the entire time.
I turn and survey the so called party. Would they notice if I slip out? I wonder. I don’t even know what I am doing there anymore. It’s all unnecessary suffering to me. I look over at my friend. Her sloppy movements and glass of whiskey tell me that she has forgotten all about me.
Yep. I’m out. I’ll sneak out the front door, and if anyone asks questions, I’ll just say I’m out for a smoke.
