I am not a social person. I used to be. Very! But that’s not the point of today’s story.
I have discussed my social anxiety all over this blog. The last time was HERE. Because I’ve explained it a zillion times, no need to delve deeply into minutia. Let’s just say… I embarrass myself frequently… or as my text (trying to explain my embarrassment to someone who was there) auto-corrected, “in barest” myself… which, of course, only makes the ending to the story laugh-out-loud funny… er, as interesting as the rest of it.
I tell these kinds of stories to say… hey, I’m human, too! I do dumb, silly, eye-rolling-ly, hideous, upsetting things… just like some (most?) of you! If you have social anxiety, you’ll understand better than most.
Note to self: Next time, in preparation of said “social event,” take an anti-anxiety pill. Possibly, two.
Here’s what happened: We were having our office Christmas party. It was, as it turns out, a luncheon. No spouses, just an easy-breezy lunch at a really nice place I’ve never been to — an aside: It was delish!
The female half of my boss-team and I discussed getting dressed up. I had the perfect thing to wear… this beautiful silk jacket my mother gave me… red, silver and black. I would wear my black camisole and black dress pants. I would be stunning! You know, in my head.
Well… I woke up and it had snowed last night. Not big snow, but slippery-cold snow, nonetheless. Alrighty then, camisole out, sweater in. Dress shoes out, clunky snow boots in.
I put on the sweater, which was a light black velvet. As I slipped into the jacket, I found that I could not slip at all. It was kinda like the velvet was actually velcro. So, I took the sweater off and put the camisole on, slipped on the jacket and found that I STILL could not slip. Why? Because my upper arms are too fat. Oh yeah, I was going to lose weight before I wearing it. Oops, I forgot.
So, second-choice, it was! Off I went in my sparkly top that I’ve had for years, which wasn’t expensive in the first place, however, did I mention it’s sparkly? It may explain why it now litters glitter, though I didn’t notice it until I was coming back up from the downstairs bathroom at work and found a trail of glitter leading from my desk to the… well, it’s been said… bathroom, possibly directly on the john, though I didn’t go check. Fancy! Right?
And yet, this is not the embarrassing part. It comes next.
We’re at the restaurant… it’s time to do the gift-giving. We were having a game-thingy. Here’s how it goes: We all buy a gift under $15 and wrap it. At the venue, we all take a number. The person with number 1 chooses a wrapped gift and opens it. The second person can take the first person’s gift or choose another unwrapped gift. The third person can take one of the two opened gifts or take an unwrapped gift. If they take one of the first two gifts, the person without a gift can then take an unwrapped gift or the gift from the other person. I’ve played this a handful of times and it’s sometimes riotous (like the year someone purchased liquor as the gift. It was traded around a half-dozen times because everyone wanted it) and sometimes awkward (like when someone buys nasal spray as a “gag” gift, which also actually happened once and trust me, nobody wanted it, obviously).
Okay, so, you need to know that I found the neatest little lights with clear mini-clips for cards, photos or whatever you wish to hang. Adorable, I thought. (It’s my featured photo.)
We’re all sitting there and it’s time to play. I was number 2 and picked an unwrapped gift, a lovely tea. There weren’t many of us, so it wasn’t a long game… and in fact, I was left with my tea until number 6 took it from me. I was then to pick between what was opened by everyone else and the final gift that was unopened.
Here’s where it gets crazy. Be prepared to cringe.
I yell out, “I want my lights!” and take the lights that I bought from the person who got them and she had to take the last gift.
Well. What can I say? Except… see, this is why you should never take me anywhere.
I tried to trade it later, after the game was over, you know, with the woman I “stole” them from… which made things worse. I was bringing attention to my weirdness by being weirder. Ugh.
A thousands deaths, people. I wanted to crawl under a rock or at least the table. I mean, I’m sitting here typing and laughing a little to myself… kinda maniacal-like, because… what else can one do? You know, when one embarrasses herself like she’s a six-year-old trying to get a donated toy back from the orphanage? (Is that “a thing”? Feels like it should be a thing.)
OMG! I could just… well, it’s been said. Crawl. Under something.
After I got home, I wrote to the boss to say thank you for lunch and his partner (co-boss, female) to say I was sorry and that I was so embarrassed, which, as I say, auto-corrected to “I’m in barest” which may (or may not) make her think of me naked.
So, that’s my story for today. Is there a moral? No. All I can say is this: It has probably already been forgotten by everyone at that table. So, perhaps I’ll just have to let it go, too.