A couple of weeks ago we had a nice weekend planned. The girls were at their cousins for a couple of days and Tom and I had a bit of peace and quiet to look forward to and a party to go to on the Saturday night.
The party was a birthday celebration for a friend of Tom’s. We’d received the invitation a few weeks earlier and Tom asked if I’d like to go and I said ‘yes, that will be nice’.
The weeks passed and the big day arrived and I thought ‘a party…meh’. I’d even dutifully posted on Facebook that it was going to a be a good weekend, including the party in list of enjoyable things about to happen. By the time party hour rolled round I was thoroughly disinterested. It was cold and raining, the party was being held in a shed or barn or something and worst of all there were over 60 people invited - I only vaguely knew one of them. I had a sudden realisation that I had absolutely no interest in attending this party. In fact the very idea of having to go to this event, make small talk with strangers and generally socialise filled me dread. I didn’t want to go. I told Tom. He was a bit disappointed but understanding. After much thought and deliberation I decided not to go. Tom said he’d go for a couple of hours. I changed out of my party clothes and got into my PJs, poured myself a glass of wine and settled on the couch, with Jack at my side, and watched Midsomer Murders. Happy.
I’ve since reflected on this (for the want of something better to do). During this reflection I came to realise that I don’t like parties, I’ve never liked parties and I have, in fact, spent my whole life disliking parties and avoiding them where possible and enduring them when it’s not possible to avoid them. I even remember as a child not particularly liking parties. The same goes for clubs and organisations and conferences.
I’m not anti-social, I like spending time with people up to a point. I’ve always been very happy in my own company but a nice gathering of close friends and family is fine. A dinner party, or lunch with a small group is lovely. I think my limit is 6 people before it becomes too much and too overwhelming for me.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me (is there?). I know I’m not alone in not enjoying certain social gatherings. I’m past the point in my life where I feel I have to party like it’s 1999 (and that reference proves it). I’m also past the point in my life where I have to pretend about such things and can actually say ‘thanks for the invitation, but I’m not really into parties but would love to catch up for a drink/coffee/dinner sometime’ and not make excuses or lie about phantom previous engagements.
Does this mean I’m finally growing up? Or just getting old?
