It seems that me and the team (from work) are meeting at six and then going to the bar. That should be interesting. How do I keep calm in light of the fact that I don’t drink alcohol (and even have difficulty spelling it)? How do I maintain my status as ‘one of the boys’ when I’m going to stick out like a pink iPhone?
But it’s just not worth the hassle to announce that I want to stay in my room and read my book, and go on my blog until hunger drives me out to find pizza. Is it?
I do still have the lingering hope that I might fit in, one of these days. That I might actually enjoy myself in the company of men. And that’s what’s making me meet them at six. The faint hope that I might just be okay.
To be honest, I prefer the company of women. No, actually – that’s wrong when I think about it. I prefer the company of people who I can have a sensible (and yet senseless) conversation with. People who are like me. People who aren’t too afraid to say what’s on their mind and see where that leads them.
Having said that, I’m not really sure what form such a conversation would take. It used to be that it would involve flirtation. But I can’t really do that now. It’s against the rules. And besides, I couldn’t do that with blokes! Well, I could. But I wouldn’t want to. People can get the wrong impression you know!
Anyway, it’s thirty-eight minutes past five and so I have twenty-two minutes to gird my loins, so to speak. I’m sure it’ll be okay. Just so long as I don’t fall into the wrong kind of silence. That’d be the worst thing. If a bout of self-consciousness came over me and I went quiet, that’d be that. I’d be dead in the water.
How about if I pretend to be drunk? Yeah – that’d do the trick. An evening of pretending to be drunk!
Gah. Kill me now.