Alternative title: At social events I am often left with the feeling that I need to repeatedly bang my head against a table in order to make sense of the whole occasion…such is life for an incredibly socially awkward twit with food anxieties up the wazoo!
The mere prospect of social events brings me out in a cold sweat, everything can be fine and dandy one moment (usually while watching re-runs of The Great British Bake Off and drinking Horlicks…it’s quintessentially British damnit!) and then ka-boom “darling we have a dinner invitation to attend this weekend”.
All at once my insides twist, fear of the squits takes over and I consider raiding my handbag for Imodium (if you have ever worried about filling your pants in public then you need these little god-sends).
You see, I’m not a social butterfly by any stretch of the imagination…there have been times in the past when I’ve followed the ‘fake it until you make it’ concept which has resulted in me dancing wildly on tables in high heels and damn near killed myself by falling face first onto the urine and beer soaked floor, but for the most part I tend to shy away from such shenanigans…and Gin, probably best for me to stay away from Gin.
I suppose if it’s an evening of pure drinking it is tolerable to an extent as most people get absolutely sloshed and can’t remember a thing you’ve said to them the next day.
Person: *slurring their way through what may be the alphabet, or it may be a rendition of a U2 song…hard to tell*
Me: “Sorry but please could you kindly bog right off, you’re wasting valuable oxygen telling me about things I couldn’t really care less about and if you tap me on the arm one more time I’m going to ram your hand so far up your ass you’ll be able to tickle your tonsils”.
Me: “You heard…”
It’s a whole different ball game when there is food involved. I have a general dislike of buffets as it means trusting other people with washing their hands after peeing on their fingers (drunk people do that you know), and I’m especially awkward when it comes to sit-down meals; I carefully examine the menu for the least messy thing and order that, even if I don’t like the option (food and I have a relatively complicated relationship…our Facebook status says so). When said food arrives I’ll spend time pushing it around the plate with a fork, breaking it down into smaller portions and wondering if it would be less disgusting for people to watch me try and eat my own face than it would be to see me tackle a bowl of spaghetti carbonara.
Still, if I have a face full of food (or am attempting to eat my own face) then I can’t take part in tedious small talk which starts off with people sharing “witty” anecdotes about work that only other people in their respective fields would understand and ending with the latest “controversial” storyline in Corrie.
Person 1: “I’ve read that the guy that runs that taxi place is going to be even more sarcastic in the next episode!”
Person 2: “*gasp* really?”
(I’m now wondering how exactly I would go about eating my nose)
Person 1: “Then like, he bonks someone on a night out!”
Person 2: “OMG but his missus is like, so pretty!”
(And ears, which one would I attempt first and how would I manage that?! As if the nose wasn’t impossible enough)
Person 1: “She IS so pretty! Wow, how silly of him”
Person 2: “I know right?!”
(Probably the right one…now attempting to move tongue to right ear)
Person 1: “So anyway back to my work stories….”
(Sod it I’m going to drown myself in the spaghetti)
I do try and play nice…I did once have an hour long conversation with a lass about mineral foundation without knowing what that shit is or what it does. Inevitably though I end up saying something that results in a very awkward silence and the other people looking at me as though I’ve just started quoting from the Necronomicon…which is probably a conversation I’d be more comfortable with.
Maybe I’m just a miserable git.