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I’m Not a Fan Of Parties
My party memories go back a long way and are mainly bad
These days, I am relaxed about party invitations because I rarely get one and would feel no guilt in telling a tactical lie to decline one politely. I no longer need to go to parties to prove my life is fun. I am released from the torture of self-inflicted exile in the kitchen and obsessive thoughts about why someone just looked at me ‘like that’.
I am an introvert who gives off extrovert vibes and parties have always confused me. That is a recent insight.
Was my party angst a nature or nurture thing? How influential were my teenage party seminal experiences?
In the spirit of this festive season, I will share three teenage tales of miserable parties past, and see if I can glean more hindsight insights.
The ‘unrequited love’ party.
This story is short and not sweet. I was 14. I finally had a party dress that suggested I was not a child anymore. I thought I looked alluring in my salmon pink, velveteen maxi dress with a ruched bodice and puffed shoulders. This was 1971.
It was my best friend’s party and I fancied her older brother. I was in my ‘romance fantasy’ stage of development, and as I went to an all-girls school, boys were rare, scary…
