“I need to find you an escort,” I told Fred recently, dreading his upcoming swanky office party. There is a thin, pretty, quiet woman inside me dying to get out to serve as my husband’s mute eye-candy (no offense to mutes), but I have her distracted with cinnamon rolls and promises of long walks.
I’m not the person you want by your side at a dignified party. I’m the girl who rides a mall massage chair like a bucking bronco, gets stuck in a ladder-less pool and cracks toilets seats. My ADHD fueled social nervousness is a catalyst for event disaster. I don’t even need alcohol.
I’m not exaggerating the problem.
Once, while dining with a British associate, he began talking about his hobby of watching tits. Watching TITS! I tried coaching my imagination (“he did not just say tits”), but he kept talking about the different colored ones he’d seen in his field and my face pulled back like The Joker and my drink sprayed out my nose like a shower spigot.
“Just pretend you’re on a job interview,” Fred suggested. Fred’s memory is short. I once said, ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ at a job interview. I once told a potential interview panel about my Mom’s blackhead. I’m dead serious.
In the past, at proper dinners with Fred’s co-workers, I’ve tried saying nothing, and just smile and nod. But inevitably someone will make eye contact and ask me a question and sweat starts rolling down Fred's face.
But maybe some preparation might help. What kinds of questions are they likely to ask?
Question 1: Do you work?
Answer: Yes, I’m a fitness instructor.
The table would fall silent at this answer. Confused looks would come upon their faces. Did you say, ‘FITNESS instructor?” Unspoken: “She couldn’t have said FITNESS instructor, she’s not at ALL fit” and “maybe she said ‘fatness instructor.’”
Alternative Answer: Yes. I’m a humor blog author.
As I rattle off my blogspot site, I would remind myself of some recent titles such as “Diarrhea on a Plane” and “Awakened by the Bathroom Vampires.” Would reading my blog do Fred any social GOOD at work?
Another Alternative Answer: Yes. I Twitter.
Some polite person would ask me the name of my “handle” and I would reply, “Bunny in my Garden.” People would eye Fred sympathetically and politely ask me the reason I write from the perspective of a garden rabbit.
A dignified, Jackie Kennedy type answer would require a lie.
Fred should take his mother.