Going out. It’s just not for me. No thanks. Apart from anything else, it scares me a bit. If there is a plan afoot to go out, a marked diary card, the slight dread begins the night before. I’ll be too tired. I don’t have any clothes. I’ll be so, so tired. I won’t know how to talk to anyone. God, the tiredness.
Listen, I am slightly dialling up the madness. Amplifying it just to be clear about the fact that I just don’t want to go out. Big party, restaurant dinner, girls drinks, or – God forbid – a cocktail party. Come on, who actually finds them fun? They are EVIL. I reject all of the above in equal measure.
I just want to be left alone. And then I wonder where everyone is. And why AM I alone when everyone else is wanted and involved and vital? Oh, I don’t know what I want – probably a slap – but going out looms dark and demanding at the end of any day.
Excitement is an anathema. Do people really look forward to things? Or do they just gird their loins and plough on like me? Did I ever like going out? Why can’t Deliveroo be the new going out? Or watching Orange is the New Black? What’s wrong with everyone? FYI I know it sounds like it, but I’m not actually on suicide watch. I just want an early night.
What is the answer when you love people but hate going out? Probably to start having small parties. If you can get your head around being a host then you can get your head around being a guest. Because we can’t give up. We’d like to. Bed. Bed. Bed. Bed. But we can’t.