Deviled Egg

I attended my first party. (Thanks, Pseudonymous Friend!) I did it. I chatted with this person and that person. I mingled, a little. I engaged in small talk.

Of course, I made some adjustments to pull it off. I napped for a slobbery 45 minutes beforehand. Daughter and I were the first to arrive, so as to avoid the rush. I drank only sparkling water. When the room started to fill up with new arrivals, I greeted people I hadn’t seen all summer, but I felt my anxiety rise; the room was filled with nice people, but it was the room being filled that jarred me. I found daughter, and we slipped out without saying goodbye to anyone.

As we drove away, we passed a couple walking to the party. I rolled down the window to say hello, to explain that I made an appearance, but I had to go. The wife cocked her head in sympathy. She held out her plate of deviled eggs and shrugged, “Have an egg.” Bless her. Daughter accepted and ate it on the ride home.

So there. We went to a party, had a drink and a deviled egg. See, we do normal things.

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