This afternoon I got a phone call from someone I haven’t seen in a year, inviting The Husband and me to a grown-ups only Halloween party being hosted by parents we used to work with closely in the high school choir and theater booster club. No costumes required, lots of people we like and rarely see any more. And it threw me into a tailspin.
I mean, what’s a SAD-riddled introvert to do?
I’m thrilled to be remembered and included. As the Husband remarked when I told him about the invitation, “Wow, I’ve never been one of the cool kids before. I’m flattered.” I know for a fact that I would enjoy seeing most of these people again.
And yet, I also know myself too well. If I accept the invitation, it will feel great now. And the closer we get to Halloween, the more I will kick myself. By the 31st I’ll be pouting around the house, sick to my stomach because I have to a) wear makeup and nice clothes on a Saturday, b) stay awake and alert until the party starts at 9:00 pm (this time of year I’m in my pajamas the minute the sun goes down), and c) force myself into a situation where I have to make conversation with people outside my family.
But I think I’m going to say yes. The Husband and I talked it over. He gets all my reservations and will support me either way. But even giving that “yes” is hard for me. Like many introverts, making a phone call is, for me, like walking on broken glass. Doesn’t help that the woman issuing the invitation is a blabber puss. A phone call to her is a half-hour commitment. If only I can catch her when she can’t pick up the phone so I can just leave a voice mail.
Sheesh. All this over a lovely invitation. Sometimes being an introvert is a real curse.