After finally getting dressed, doing my hair, and makeup, it was time to go out. I gave myself a little pep talk, took some deep breaths, and headed to my car. Before I went to the party, I needed to go to the grocery store, because it’s rude to go to a party without bringing anything, right? Well, that is what my dad always taught me. And to be honest, when you are as awkward as me, “not showing up empty handed” isn’t so much about not bringing something for the host, as it is about having something to occupy your hands with or else you won’t know what to do with them. Does that ever happen to you? You are just like walking somewhere, or standing, and you suddenly become aware that your arms are in the most ridiculous and random position. Like one is bent and one is straight, as if you are about to do the Mr. Robato dance. Well when I arrived at the party my arms were safely filled with a chilly box of microwaveable taquitos. Mr. Robato arms—0, Awkward Girl—1.
I knock on the door, and brace myself for the noisy booze fest that is about to greet me. The door cracks, and I reflexively hold my breath, and I’m pretty sure I grimaced a little bit. But what met me instead was the smiling face of my friend, and the quiet sound of the Oscar’s playing in the background. I entered the house and realized I was one of about five people there. There was pizza, fritos, and chocolate covered strawberries.
What? Are you surprised? You really shouldn’t be. You think Awkward Girl would have really been invited to a crazy party? Hah! No. I myself was pleasantly surprised, because this was way more up my alley. I kicked my boots off, piled my plate high with fritos and guacamole, and claimed a spot on the couch. There I sat for the rest of the evening, munching on snacks, gazing dreamily at Leonardo Dicaprio, and singing along with Idina Menzel while trying to hide my passion for Frozen from my peers.
So despite all my worrying, and all the trouble I had gone to, I actually had a nice evening with my friends. I suppose there is solidarity in awkwardness.