Member-only story
I’m Not Mad At You. I’m Just An Introvert.
I promise there’s a difference.
A few years ago, one of my good friends from childhood got in contact with me. Did I maybe want to catch up some time? I said sure, that I’d love to see her again, and we made plans for dinner.
When the day came, she asked if it would be okay to stop by a party afterwards. I’d know some people there, she promised, and they’d be glad to see me. I didn’t want to seem impolite, so I said okay, figuring it would only be for a few minutes. True, I didn’t love parties, but how bad could it be, really?
Of course, “stopping by the party” turned into staying at the party. And did I mention they had karaoke?
So although I did know some people there, and they were happy to include me, I soon found myself sitting alone in a corner and wondering how long I had to stay before I could fake a headache and call it a night.
“Aren’t you having a good time?” my friend asked, coming over to check on me. “Why aren’t you singing?”
“I’m not a good singer,” I said, silently praying that she’d accept this explanation and leave me alone.
“Right, like we are?” She laughed. “Come on.”
I shook my head vehemently. “No really, I’m fine.”
