I try and avoid “organized fun” as vehemently as I can. This includes (but is not limited to) any type of “shower,” child’s birthday party or pre-wedding event.
I have developed a theory around this: I spend so much time in an uptight corporate environment, struggling not to completely lose my shit, that my free time outside of the financial salt mine is sacred to me.
My idea of a well-spent Saturday does not involve making chit-chat with a room full of people I am loosely acquainted with, oohing and aahing at their drooling offspring as they politely inquire into the status of my own conspicuously barren womb, anxiously looking down at my cellphone every few minutes trying to deem when it will be socially acceptable to dip (hoping the nervous-looking guy manning the Doritos bowl breaks and does it before me), scorning myself for wearing the uncomfortable new wedges that are giving me blisters (but make my calves look awesome), wondering when the last time any of these people had a conversation that didn’t involve the words “diaper rash” was and hoping that someone offers me a second beer before I lose my fucking mind.
So when I received an invitation to a friend’s one-year old’s birthday party, the first thought in my mind was, “crap.” I sat on the invitation for a week hoping she would forget, but alas, I received a gentle reminder on Facebook a few days out. I politely declined, giving a vague indication that I would be out of town for the weekend.
And then, the night of tequila happened. I’m not sure why, but turning down this invitation bothered me. And bothered me. And then bothered me some more. I justified my decline with: “We aren’t even good friends anymore. She hasn’t been interested in my life since she became a mom. The baby is one; she won’t remember this party.”
As I hung onto my toilet for dear life, relieved that Mr. P was relieving me of the task of procuring dog food for me, I decided to text my friend back, “changed my mind; will come.”
Why? I’m not even sure, to be quite honest. We most likely will never find our footing again. But for whatever reason, I felt compelled to be there and support her; even if it is just our loose threads of history still binding us together.
(And after it was over, I kicked those goddamn wedges off, ate a burrito the size of a newborn baby and enjoyed a well-deserved night of fermented grapes and really bad movies, that were in fact so bad, that they were kind of amazing.)
Total Kindness Cost: $35