An anti-social Cinderella who did not have a ball at the ball

What could POSSIBLY go wrong at a professional function? It would merely be an extension of school which is one of my established "Covid Quadrilateral" safe places. I would be surrounded by familiar faces. The mask restrictions had been significantly eased. There would be food. No problem!

"We're going to park in my secret spot so we won't get hung up trying to leave," Geri told me, easing the car into a spot behind Kohls. I squinted as I tried to see our venue in the distance. Geri and I rappelled down the steep, mountainous slope that led to the far back (and I mean REALLY far back) lot of our venue. I paused before beginning our hour-long trek across the parking lots to consider Geri's car, perched upon the summit, briefly wondering if I should retrieve my phone. I was already gasping for breath, though, and the thought of the oxygen-deprived atmosphere surrounding Geri's car convinced me that I wouldn't require a communication device. 

As we entered the venue, my tummy gave the now-familiar roll that warned me that I might have to begin employing one of my dozens of distraction techniques.  I felt a ridiculous sense of pride when I hopped on the escalator without incident. Thank goodness I wasn't going to have to add THAT to my long list of fears and phobias. We entered the room and I immediately went to reach for my absent phone. The narrow room was closing in on me like a frickin' coffin. I was having trouble distinguishing even one familiar face from the milling herd of humans rushing about. And, oh my, I love them dearly, but my colleagues are LOUD. Bursts of laughter were detonating all around me. Maybe Brad Mosiman could sense the shrieks of terror filling my head. Maybe he was already on his way. I would just sit, hugging this brick column, until he arrived to take me home. 

"Can you talk?" my friend Erin asked. I shook my head. She rummaged in her purse and handed me a piece of candy, standing with her back to me, chatting with friends, and blocking me off from as much of the room as her slender frame would allow. I spotted an unbent paperclip and went to town. I had shaped it into over half of the letters of the alphabet before Tyler took his turn to babysit the lunatic. He regaled me with a fascinating story of refilling his pool. When I am able to function again, remind me to provide him with a list of more interesting conversational topics. My friend Michelle took her turn and that's when we stumbled onto a fun little game called "Amy's Restroom Tours." I may have led at least seven expeditions to the exotic world of washrooms...expertly guiding my friends down the escalator (I really wanted to brag about how effortlessly I glided up and down it) and to the little secret alcove that housed the loo.  

Geri had, by this time, intubated two drinks into me and it was time to eat. The brick column no longer provided comfort...I was now acutely aware that the entire room was to my back..."Who are you, Doc Holiday?" Geri asked. I told her she was mixing her Wild West ruminations. Bill Hickok, obviously also an anxious person, was renowned for watching his back until a hand of Aces and eights did him in. I croaked something indecipherable to Tyler and he somehow understood that I needed to change seats with him. I've never given him credit for being intuitive before. I don't think I'll start now. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut, now and then. Speaking of nut, I was shaking so bad and was so out of sorts that I ended up scooping a large portion of au gratin CAULIFLOWER on my plate. It was then that I began devising other methods of getting home. Three of us...Eric, Erin, and myself...made it back to the table first so I asked Eric to pray which is usually pretty risky for me because it often makes me cry but as Eric gave thanks for the food and prayed for the event, instead of asking God to to smite the crazy out of his friend, I did okay.

By this time, I was exhausted. I don't actually remember a lot about the evening...just concentrating REALLY hard on getting through it and feeling so incredibly foolish. Eye contact was almost impossible. Trying not to flinch. Reminding myself to breathe. I remember Michelle questioning my lifetime commitment to bangs and manipulating her own hair to see how the style would look on her. I lowered my heavy head upon Erin's shoulder for a moment, praying for the night to end. 

So...yeah...I'm not there---yet. But, believe it or not, I am getting better. Five months ago, we would have needed a stretcher to get me out of there...if I could have even walked through the event doors at all.  I want to send an apology letter to every one who attended our little function, explaining that I was not being intentionally anti-social and how sorry I am if I darkened the mood of such a fun festivity. So yeah...I'm not there---yet. But I have a plane to California to catch and if I'm EVER going to be able to do that, I am going to first have to be cognizant enough to avoid the au gratin cauliflower in a buffet line, be able to listen, with feigned interest, to Tyler's boring stories, and wrestle a pulsating room into place. No problem.