Friday, August 21, 2009

Social Situations Just Aren't My Thing

Socially, I am as awkward as they come. In unfamiliar situations my heart races, I start to sweat, and I stumble over my words more than Teddy Kennedy on his way home from dollar draft night. Thank goodness I met my husband online and had the opportunity to get past the first few conversations behind the safety of my computer because otherwise I would most likely still be single, working to feed my twenty cats, and waiting for Wal Mart to have a good deal on yarn. Oh yeah, I'm that bad.

Before I was a stay-at-home mom, I worked in a pathology lab. I absolutely loved the job and the people that I worked with were wonderful, but from time to time we would be short handed and only two people would take their lunch break at a time. When these days rolled around I was completely sick to my stomach because it meant that I would have to come up with fun, witty conversation for an entire thirty minutes with only one person in the audience, and I would have to have a response for everything that they said. Most of the time I didn't even hear what they were saying because in my head I was going, "Come on, how hard can it be to come up with something to say? Surely you have an interesting anecdote tucked away for theses situations. My God why can't you come up with anything to say?" And so on and so forth.

I bring all of this up so that you can fully grasp the magnitude of what went down today. Tomorrow, Mike's family is having a reunion and I made these delicious maple cookies to take with us. Because I am always concerned about having enough of what ever I make, I over baked, as usual. A little more than seven dozen cookies covered my kitchen counters and as I started to put them into a container I realized there just ain't no way almost ninety cookies are going to fit into this container. What to do with so many cookies? I know, I could be all neighborly and fix up a plate for our neighbors.

And so I did.

I fixed up a nice plate with wax paper that I cut into a circle to fit onto the plate perfectly and layered cookies meticulously onto the plate, circle-shaped wax paper between each layer. That was the easy part. Now I had to deliver those cookies, me, the socially inept, word stumbling idiot. I swear that I stalked them for a good ten minutes through our kitchen window trying to see if by chance they were outside, but alas, they were not. I knew that they were home because I saw them go inside about twenty minutes before hand. So now I am standing there, plate of perfectly arranged cookies in hand debating on the consequences of walking up the road to their front porch and having to actually knock on their door. Knock...on their door..which is going to bring them outside... to where I stand struggling for the right words to explain why I am there on their porch hyperventilating and sweating more than Hillary Clinton at the Salem witch trials.

Before I stepped out the door to take the long walk of anxiety induced panic, I asked Aaron, my four year old, if he would like to come with me. Of course he was engrossed in a TV show and declined. Damn kids.

So now I am walking up the road thinking, "Well, they probably saw me walk out onto the porch with these cookies and if I don't continue on the journey they are going to think that I am a total dumb ass who takes plates of cookies for walks around my yard." There was nothing that I could do but continue onward.

And so I did.

My heart was pounding so hard when I got to the door that I was afraid if they answered right away that I would be too breathless to explain myself. Breathless from terror not from lack of being in shape because, you know, I work out with Jillian and stuff. I pressed the door bell.


So now I'm thinking, "Does the door bell work? I didn't hear it, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't work. Should I ring it again or knock this time?"

So I knock, but still nothing.

Well now I'm invested. I have been seen, probably, by other people passing by and I can't just turn around and walk my cookies home. What if when I turn to leave they come to the door and then I have to walk back up the porch feeling like a loser? Also, their two dogs have come around the corner and they are sitting there mocking me with their smiley doggy faces as if to say, "What a dumb ass? Why is she here? Is it normal for a person to sweat like that?

Three knocks later, yes I'm serious, I heard some rumblings from within and finally the mother emerged. I smiled and told her that I had made cookies and that I thought they would like some. She was very friendly and smiled and thanked me.

Triumphant, I turned and headed back home... and then passed out as soon as I walked through my front door.


Leslie said...

Amy, we are cut from the same cloth. I am the same way!

I refuse to go running on our street because I don't want to have to smile and wave at the neighbors who, oh my goodness, SEE ME. It's too much.

Although, my anxiety is from the opposite of not saying something. I err on the side of doesn't let anyone else get a word in edge-wise.