I'm feeling grumpy. And old. Over the hill at the ripe age of twenty-eight. It's all a downward slide from here.
Last night Ben and I attended our ten-year high school reunion. How did it go? Ummm ... awkward would be a good word to describe the evening. Painfully, horribly awkward. I may need the rest of the week to recover from the experience.
I am a wall fly at the best of times. Last night I prayed to fade right away into the paint. To disappear. Thank God I married an outgoing sort of a guy. Ben kept up a steady stream of conversation with people we (at times, marginally) recognized. How does he do that? I have a hard time making conversation with people I know well. (My own family can attest to this sad fact.) My extroverted husband yammered on all evening.
I came away from the night feeling old, shy and inadequate. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth the entire evening. I was too intimidated to order anything stronger than water from the bar. My blouse was too cute, my nose was too big, and I had acne and crow's feet both at the same time. I felt old and frumpy.
(Grumble, groan, oh woe is me.)
Here's the thing that irks me the most: I wanted to have fun and enjoy my night. It's my own fault the experience turned out poorly. I could have gotten past my own prideful self consciousness and focused on the people around me. But I allowed myself to get overwhelmed by the noise and the crowd, and I retreated inside my safe little shell. I hid behind my husband and my drink.
Yes, the venue was noisy. None of our good friends were there. We recognized few of the faces and ended our evening early. However, life is what you make of it. I could have made a much better effort to be friendly. I am disappointed in myself.
Here's to hoping twenty years is better than ten.