I believe I've mentioned before that my husband plays cricket with a group of local mens. They are quite passionate about the sport and host an annual cricket match between a Nashville team and a British contingent. Each time the English group comes over for a tournament there is a semi-formal dinner/reception hosted by a socially prominent member of the Nashville cricket club. I say "semi-formal" because although evening gowns and tuxedos aren't required attire, I can assure you this is most definitely a pinkies-up type of affair. Big ass house, valet parking, fully catered dinner, open bar... you get the idea. And if you're thinking that this sounds like my type of scene then you have obviously never met me and the sweatpants that I wear everywhere I don't get paid to work.
I don't know what the opposite of a social butterfly is, but I am it. I like to sit in corners by myself. It takes a very deliberate, painful effort on my part to interact with strangers. I am notoriously bad with names. I'll meet someone named Charles and within thirty seconds I'm calling them Wilhelm. I don't know how I manage to do it. It must be some sort of gift from above designed to ensure I remain a social pariah for the rest of my days. And just when I think I have embarrassed myself in every way possible I find a new, more innovative way to bring shame to me and, in this case, my husband. Case in point: a recent cricket reception with the British squad:
Me: That was a good dinner!
The Mister: Yes, it was. I'm glad you liked it. I didn't think you liked Indian food.
Me: I don't, really. It tends to make me gassy. But that's probably better discussed at another time.
TM: Yes, preferably when I'm far, far away.
Me: Eh, whatever. Anyway, where did Earl go?
TM: Who's Earl?
Me: The dude I was sitting next to during dinner.
TM: Uh, you were sitting next to Jimmy.
Me: No, I was sitting next to Earl. I paid special attention when we were introduced. I wanted to make sure I knew the freaking name of the person I was sitting next to during dinner. I may only be able to remember three names at a time, but I know that I got his name right. Anyway, he was really nice and we had a good conversation!
TM: I know who you were sitting next to. His name is Jimmy.
Me: Quit yanking my chain, buttmonkey! I know his name is Earl because that's how were were introduced and I called him that all during dinner and he answered me each time. If that weren't his name he would have said something. So quit trying to make fun of me because I know this time I got the name right.
TM: Are we talking about the same person?
Me: He was the tall guy in the blue shirt sitting to my left during dinner. Nice looking guy... strawberry blonde hair.
TM: That's Jimmy.
Me: Give it a rest. He was introduced to me as "Earl something-or-other." I KNOW it.
TM: Oh... oh. Ha!
Me: What?
TM: Did you two have a nice conversation?
Me: Yes! We have the same birthday!
TM: Did you call him "Earl"?
Me: Duh, of course I did. That's his name.
TM: [snicker]
Me: He seemed quite entertained by me, if you'd like to know. Especially when I asked him what was shaking. I think he found my candor refreshing!
TM: HA!
Me: Oh, whatever. What's so funny?
TM: His name isn't Earl. He is an earl. His name is James, Earl of [somewhere-in-England].
[...]
Me: Oh, sweet Jesus.
TM: Ha! Ha ha!
[...]
Me: Do you know the coat closet in the library?
TM: Yeah, why?
Me: Come get me before you leave.
TM: What are you going to be doing in there?
Me: Lying on the floor in a fetal position sucking on a bottle of tequila.
I don't know what the opposite of a social butterfly is, but I am it. I like to sit in corners by myself. It takes a very deliberate, painful effort on my part to interact with strangers. I am notoriously bad with names. I'll meet someone named Charles and within thirty seconds I'm calling them Wilhelm. I don't know how I manage to do it. It must be some sort of gift from above designed to ensure I remain a social pariah for the rest of my days. And just when I think I have embarrassed myself in every way possible I find a new, more innovative way to bring shame to me and, in this case, my husband. Case in point: a recent cricket reception with the British squad:
Me: That was a good dinner!
The Mister: Yes, it was. I'm glad you liked it. I didn't think you liked Indian food.
Me: I don't, really. It tends to make me gassy. But that's probably better discussed at another time.
TM: Yes, preferably when I'm far, far away.
Me: Eh, whatever. Anyway, where did Earl go?
TM: Who's Earl?
Me: The dude I was sitting next to during dinner.
TM: Uh, you were sitting next to Jimmy.
Me: No, I was sitting next to Earl. I paid special attention when we were introduced. I wanted to make sure I knew the freaking name of the person I was sitting next to during dinner. I may only be able to remember three names at a time, but I know that I got his name right. Anyway, he was really nice and we had a good conversation!
TM: I know who you were sitting next to. His name is Jimmy.
Me: Quit yanking my chain, buttmonkey! I know his name is Earl because that's how were were introduced and I called him that all during dinner and he answered me each time. If that weren't his name he would have said something. So quit trying to make fun of me because I know this time I got the name right.
TM: Are we talking about the same person?
Me: He was the tall guy in the blue shirt sitting to my left during dinner. Nice looking guy... strawberry blonde hair.
TM: That's Jimmy.
Me: Give it a rest. He was introduced to me as "Earl something-or-other." I KNOW it.
TM: Oh... oh. Ha!
Me: What?
TM: Did you two have a nice conversation?
Me: Yes! We have the same birthday!
TM: Did you call him "Earl"?
Me: Duh, of course I did. That's his name.
TM: [snicker]
Me: He seemed quite entertained by me, if you'd like to know. Especially when I asked him what was shaking. I think he found my candor refreshing!
TM: HA!
Me: Oh, whatever. What's so funny?
TM: His name isn't Earl. He is an earl. His name is James, Earl of [somewhere-in-England].
[...]
Me: Oh, sweet Jesus.
TM: Ha! Ha ha!
[...]
Me: Do you know the coat closet in the library?
TM: Yeah, why?
Me: Come get me before you leave.
TM: What are you going to be doing in there?
Me: Lying on the floor in a fetal position sucking on a bottle of tequila.
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