Just Super
Yesterday was another Sunday, or, as I like to now think of it, "Dress-Like-a-Human-Being-and-Try-and-Make-Friends Day." So, I did.
I worked the connect group room. I chatted it up with the popular couples of the class. And for once, I didn’t get blank stares - I got receptive chatting back. And I left having succeeded - I got us an invitation to a Superbowl party.
(What accounts for this change? I could be a Big Person and say I had to adjust my attitude a little. But I really think it was my shoes - beautiful new black kid leather pumps - bought on sale, of course - with the most perfect little heel. Yup, it was definitely the shoes.)
Now, I don’t really like the Superbowl. Living in Buffalo and watching the Bills will do that to you. But we’re talking about a chance to make friends here. Oh, and they had free pizza.
(Anyone who knew me in college knows I only joined clubs and activities where free food was offered. At times I went days without buying myself a meal. This is an instinct I’ve retained, for better or for worse. It was almost worth never having a life.)
Guess what? I had a much better time.
I chatted with the girls. I compared ads with the guys. I got job advice from some of the more seasoned women, which I traded for travel advice to the DC-bound ("Don’t even think about renting a car. And stand on the right side of the metro escalator or some frenzied commuter in a power suit will knock you out with her briefcase and shove her IPod down your throat"). Most importantly, I brought apples and caramel dip, which everyone loved.
I even secured an invitation to go out next weekend.
So I feel much, much better. Now, if I could only get myself to change out of these pajama pants…
