Nahm’sayin? Giving Thanks for Party Anxiety
You know when you go to a party expecting all of your friends to be there?
Yeah, me too. But they actually don’t show up? And you’re like, left there, trying to socialize with your friends’ friends—who, let’s be honest, are much cooler than you.
Everyone knows each other except for you and you’re like trying to find a place to put your coat without being annoying. Your eyes are darting from wall to wall, your brain struggling to recognize a familiar face. “Hopefully they’ll get here soon,” you tell yourself.
It’s a potluck. You showed up late. You awkwardly filled up your plate and then had to sit down to eat by yourself, cause y’know, everyone ate already.
You keep telling yourself that your friends—who all said they would actually come this time, finally, not like last time they said they would—will show, but they never do and you just spend three hours drinking, mostly by yourself, save for when the occasional drunk person has a moment of charity and decides to talk to you. That guy with the glasses is cute, though. But you have pumpkin pie all over your face and you probably look crazy.
Oh, there’s the host! I know her. “I drank tequila, and now I’m an asshole,” she says. Shit, I mean yeah, parties are great right? I love them; I love socializing. It’s so, just so great. Just kidding. Drunk people are awful. But you know what’s worse? The saddening realization that you too, are an awful drunk person. Or wait, even more—that your friends are all probably drunk too, just without you.
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