This past Saturday, I was exhausted. I woke up, looked at the time, and went back to sleep. Then I woke up again, checked the time, and went back to sleep. Finally, I woke up, checked the time, and realized that I may be slipping into a dangerous pattern. So, I went back to sleep.
However, I knew I would have to get up eventually as I had been invited to a birthday party that evening, and much like Head & Shoulders’ shampoo, I have been trying to cut down on flaking this year. I began the long arduous process of preparing my physical appearance so that it would be deemed appropriate in the presence of other humans. Five minutes later, I figured between my application of deodorant and a quick pre-game vodka cocktail, no one would probably be able to tell that most of my make-up was left over from the previous evening’s activities.
Now that I was all dolled up, I began my trek down to the apartment listed on the invitation, and even stopped to get a bottle of wine. I arrived in record time, filled with a renewed sense of pride at my own accountability, and knocked on the designated door. I noted that it did seem rather quiet in the hallway, but I just assumed that the folks already celebrating on the other side of the wall were more civilized than the under-medicated flock of nightmares I call my friends. (You guys are the BEST!)
The kind hostess opened the door, but the apartment behind her was empty.
“Oh, god,” I thought. “This is my intervention.”
But no, it wasn’t. It was much more awkward than that. The party had been postponed, the hostess explained, and yes, everyone else had followed party protocol and had not shown up. I stood there breathing at her for a minute, which I find always puts others at ease, muttered “I’m sorry” over and over again in an attempt to convince her that I could muster up one singular social skill, and scurried back onto the elevator, kicking myself for having already drank the bottle of wine on the ride down there.
Dejected, and already sobering up, I went back up town to seek refuge (and more alcohol) in the only place I feel at home…my home.
And then I went back to sleep.
Editor’s note: I do not, in any way, hold the hostess or birthday-haver responsible for this string of events.