As a high-functioning introvert, I’ve trained myself to attend public events without breaking out in hives, shutting myself away in the bathroom or yelling at people to “Just stop with the talking, already!!”
But social interaction isn’t high on my to-do list. In fact, I can think of at least 50 things I will do before accepting your invitation to go clubbing, drinking, partying or anything that involves standing in large groups of people, making small talk and eating crudites.
The list mainly includes some version of reading, TV binge watching, eating/cooking, doing yoga or just sitting on the back porch, staring off into space. But besides those, here are five things I’ll do to avoid socializing.
- Clean my fridge. Yes, I would rather handle pounds of rotting broccoli and green onions than go to any “party” involving Tupperware, skin care, jewelry, adult toys or home decor.
- Bathe my dog. My dog hates baths more than I hate groups of people. Picture this: Ringo hears the bath water and glides out the doggy door. As the tub fills, I hunt him down, luring him with bites of meat (doesn’t matter what kind). I entice him with squeaky toys to get in the bathroom, when I slam the door and wrestle him into the water. By the time he’s “clean,” there’s no water left in the tub and my bathroom walls are covered with dog hair. Yep, I’d rather do that than party.
- Take a Zumba class. Me and Zumba go together like Trump and Clinton. It’s just an ugly, uncoordinated battle that no one wants to see. But if it gets me out of a black-tie reception, I’ll Zumba my ass off.
- Eat kale. You know how much I hate kale; the attention whore of the greens family. No one likes kale. Everyone who says they like it is a liar. Even deep fried or sprinkled with powdered sugar, kale will still taste like death. But. If I’m invited to a party and told if I don’t attend, I’ll have to eat kale? Done. Kale is my new best friend.
- Pull weeds. If I had lived in the Garden of Eden, I would have eaten that apple immediately so I wouldn’t have to weed the damn flower beds. To me, gardening is synonymous with dental appointments. Luckily, my husband is an avid gardener who loves to dig in the soil and be one with the earth. But if digging up dandelions will give me an excuse to stay home, get out the tiny shovels!
So if you invite me to something and I don’t show up, don’t be offended. I would just rather do pretty much anything else, including burning my house down, to avoid insincere conversation and celery sticks.