Making New Friends. Maybe.

Day after tomorrow, I'm loading up the littlest ones and driving across town so they can ride ponies and I can stand around and make small talk with a bunch of people I don't know. This is, for me, the social equivalent of a hot poker in my eye.

Despite having some pretty rad (if I do say so myself) social skillz, I am not overly fond of going to a function without knowing someone there. 'Not overly fond' is being kind. Terrified is more like it. A queasy stomached, hot faced, worst case scenario imagining freak. Sean and Katie both have the gift of social ease - they can slide into any group and make easy conversation, and leave with a dozen phone numbers. I over think everything, then analyze it to death afterward.

I have to dress cute, but not too cute. Not so cute that it looks like I tried really hard to be cute. Horseback riding for the kids, so would jodphurs be too much? Probably. Shorts? No, I'd have to shave. Crops then. A tank, with a cardigan. One of my new bras. WAIT JUST A DAMNED MINUTE. I am going to a playgroup, not getting lucky. I'll wear a nursing bra.

Then there's the kids. The kids are always cute. Luckily, Julia is no longer walking around calling me a vagina, so I don't have to worry about that. If we can avoid meltdowns and potty accidents, I think we're good.

I know where I'm going, so I can pretty accurately judge how long it will take us to get there. I will still be early, because that's what I do. So then I'll have to drive around until there is a significant enough number of cars in the parking lot so I'm not too early. But not late, either. It is a fine line.

I'll have to repack the diaper bag. I'll take out the suckers, and sucker wrappers and half eaten suckers, and replace them with the first aid kit and the organic snacks and the monogrammed sippy cups.

There are some things I can't control. I always talk too much, so I don't even try to control that anymore. I just hope I manage not to drop an f-bomb or blurt out something terribly embarrassing. But sometimes, when I get nervous, or even sometimes when I'm not nervous (because my body likes to fuck with me), I will get very red faced. But just on one side of my face. And because I do not possess the "play it cool" gene, I will walk around proclaiming loudly and frequently "What's going on with my face? That is so weird! Isn't that weird? It's hot! Is it red? It's red, isn't it?"
 
It's amazing that I ever manage to leave the house, isn't it?

Wish me luck. If things go horribly wrong - at least it will make a good story.