Who Else Hates Parties?
I hate parties - or more accurately, I hate the thought of attending a party.
Am I alone in this, or is it more common than anyone admits? Who else hates parties? Be honest.
I guess when you're young, there is some excitement in preparing yourself, and maybe you'll harbour fantasies of meeting that special some-one.
How often does that happen? It's about as likely as getting a speeding fine cancelled, with apologies.
I hate parties.
I do.
I begrudge changing from my comfy "house clothes" into party gear, and spending time at the mirror attempting to look acceptable.
I don't enjoy travelling, especially at night, to an unfamiliar venue that always seems as hard to find as matching earrings in your jewelry box.
Why do people live on unmade roads? It's wet, it's cold, there's mud everywhere, and they usher you to the deck area where an outside heater is straining to accommodate the multitudes.
I hate parties.
Oh, for a familiar face.
There's one - but he's a bore.
His wife is painfully effervescent, and never stops for a breath.
I could spend a little time with them.
Just turn her on, stand back, and listen with a half-smile frozen on your face.
I just hope I can tactfully break away when I can't take any more.
Thank God.
A speech.
Now I can pretend to be amused and engaged without any pressure for me to contribute.
Over already? Darn.
Another hour or so before I can make an excuse and head for the door.
The baby-sitter one? No the kids are all over 25.
That won't work.
Isn't it a blessing, though, when you meet up with some-one with half a brain who can sustain an intelligent conversation for at least 20 minutes? It sure makes the time go quicker.
Sadly though, Mensa graduates are a little thin on the ground these days.
Have something to eat.
That'll fill in a few minutes.
A bit more chatting.
The whole situation is becoming a little easier to endure.
I just get into the mood of the meeting, and my partner begins to make not-so-subtle facial distortions in my direction.
Seems it's time to go.
You make your way to the host, who of course is deep in conversation.
You wait patiently for what you believe is ample time to be acknowledged.
Finally you interrupt.
It feels rude, but hey, I'm leaving anyway.
You give a generic wave to any-one who may notice, and you head for the front door.
On the way home, you gradually become more and more comfortable within yourself, looking forward to a good night's sleep.
You've done your duty.
You've shown yourself to be a loyal and true supporter.
It's done.
Oh, the mail-box.
I haven't checked it yet.
Here's something.
What's this? An invitation to a party! Who else hates parties?
Am I alone in this, or is it more common than anyone admits? Who else hates parties? Be honest.
I guess when you're young, there is some excitement in preparing yourself, and maybe you'll harbour fantasies of meeting that special some-one.
How often does that happen? It's about as likely as getting a speeding fine cancelled, with apologies.
I hate parties.
I do.
I begrudge changing from my comfy "house clothes" into party gear, and spending time at the mirror attempting to look acceptable.
I don't enjoy travelling, especially at night, to an unfamiliar venue that always seems as hard to find as matching earrings in your jewelry box.
Why do people live on unmade roads? It's wet, it's cold, there's mud everywhere, and they usher you to the deck area where an outside heater is straining to accommodate the multitudes.
I hate parties.
Oh, for a familiar face.
There's one - but he's a bore.
His wife is painfully effervescent, and never stops for a breath.
I could spend a little time with them.
Just turn her on, stand back, and listen with a half-smile frozen on your face.
I just hope I can tactfully break away when I can't take any more.
Thank God.
A speech.
Now I can pretend to be amused and engaged without any pressure for me to contribute.
Over already? Darn.
Another hour or so before I can make an excuse and head for the door.
The baby-sitter one? No the kids are all over 25.
That won't work.
Isn't it a blessing, though, when you meet up with some-one with half a brain who can sustain an intelligent conversation for at least 20 minutes? It sure makes the time go quicker.
Sadly though, Mensa graduates are a little thin on the ground these days.
Have something to eat.
That'll fill in a few minutes.
A bit more chatting.
The whole situation is becoming a little easier to endure.
I just get into the mood of the meeting, and my partner begins to make not-so-subtle facial distortions in my direction.
Seems it's time to go.
You make your way to the host, who of course is deep in conversation.
You wait patiently for what you believe is ample time to be acknowledged.
Finally you interrupt.
It feels rude, but hey, I'm leaving anyway.
You give a generic wave to any-one who may notice, and you head for the front door.
On the way home, you gradually become more and more comfortable within yourself, looking forward to a good night's sleep.
You've done your duty.
You've shown yourself to be a loyal and true supporter.
It's done.
Oh, the mail-box.
I haven't checked it yet.
Here's something.
What's this? An invitation to a party! Who else hates parties?
Source...