The Loser's Club

At the urging of my kids, I recently attended an event at a local church that I sometimes visit. According to the church web calendar, it was supposed to be a class held once or twice a month for single people in their late 30's+. Apparently I'm smothering my kids because they've been bugging me to attend one of these events for some time. Why? Because according to them...I need to meet people and socialize. Of course I was adamantly opposed to going because, well... I don't particularly like people. The truth is, I have to socialize, make nice and schmooze people all day long at my job. When I leave the job - I don't want to socialize. In fact, I'm ridiculously anti-social and I like it that way. Of course that does very little toward the prospect of ever meeting a nice, conservative, Republican man and getting re-married - which I suspect is part of my daughter's motives since they keep reminding me that they won't be around forever and "I don't want you to be alone, mom!"

...yeah, I don't either.

So, against my better judgment and probably more to prove my daughters wrong, I pulled myself away from the Saturday evening prime-time line-up and drove to the "class", which will henceforth and forevermore be referred to as "The Losers Club".

Upon arriving, the first thing I noticed was a table, just inside the door, with name tags....yes, NAME TAGS. Every fiber of my being said, "GO HOME!", but I knew the "I didn't want to wear a nametag" argument probably wouldn't fly with my oldest daughter (who was waiting by her phone for a post-class report). I breezed by the name tag table without so much as a glance and said a quick prayer that there were no name tag police. I looked around and found myself standing among 5 round tables, each with seating for 8. In the center of the tables were "table-tents" with the following descriptions written on them, "50+ & HOLDING", "SINGLE WITH KIDS", "HELP ME!", "40 SOMETHING" and "FUN". I immediately wondered why being single with kids had to mean that I wasn't fun, but wasn't willing to stand out in the open for long, where people could see me and possibly talk to me. I quickly found a seat at the "SINGLE WITH KIDS" table, mainly because it was the closest one and there was only one person seated there.

For the next few minutes several people filed in and found their seats at their choice of tables. I did my best not to make eye contact with anyone, pretending to be looking for something in my handbag so people would think I was "busy". Soon after, a man in his mid-40's went to the front of the room and introduced himself as Keith, the "host". The door in the back of the room closed and a hush fell over the room as Keith began to explain what was about to happen in this "class". As it turns out - it's not a class at all...at least not in my definition of a class, which would be an event where someone teaches, lectures or in some other way instructs the attendees and that person is the only one who has to talk. Oh no - it's not a class....it can't be.... because that's just not my friggin' luck. I gave up a Law & Order marathon to be a part of an "evening of sharing" with complete strangers who were, quite frankly, making my skin crawl.

Now, let me make something clear. I am not a complete introvert....quite the contrary. I talk to people all day long - from brilliant surgeons to hospital administrators to people on welfare who can't pay their medical bills. I have no problem communicating with any type of person and I'm proud to say that my employer recently gave me a wonderful compliment when he told me that one of the reasons he hired me was because I have a gift of being able to communicate with anyone from any walk of life and leave the table with everyone on the same page. I CAN communicate with strangers - I just don't WANT to...at least not when I could be alone...on the sofa...with the clicker in my right hand and a Diet Coke in my left. I go out. I have dinner with friends. I attend healthcare forums and cocktail parties with clients and referrers. I attend events for the groups I volunteer with - Relay for Life, Victim's Advocates....I DO things. Just not all the time.

Next, Keith explained how the next HOUR AND A HALF would play out. His special guest, Pamela, would sit in a chair at the front of the room and tell us her "story" in small parts. Periodically throughout her "story", Keith would interrupt her and pose a question that we, the attendees, would have to give an answer to the rest of our table.

I looked back at the door.....still closed....I looked around and decided that I would be more conspicuous trying to leave, thus more mortified than I already was so I decided to beg God to strike me down right then and there. Surely He wouldn't make me endure this torture, right? Well.....I'm still here.

So, Pamela's story began.....she had a crappy childhood...blah, blah, blah... her mother was married 3 times and always took off with the kids in the middle of the day when the husbands were at work, blah, blah, blah...she ran away from home when she was 19 (is it really running away if you're 19??) blah, blah,friggin' blah..STOP...

Keith's question....."Tell about a defining moment in your life when you needed comfort".

At that moment I couldn't decide what I wanted to do more; beat Keith with my Coach bag or give my kids up for adoption. I looked at my beautiful bag...the kids definitely had to go. Then....it happened. The best idea in the history of good ideas just LANDED in my brain.

LIE. Make up answers. Say anything you want - just don't tell the truth.

I know what you're thinking. I was sitting in a church, for Pete's sake. How could I lie? Actually, it was really, really easy.

So I proceeded to make things up. Yep - every single question....just made up an answer. In fact, the more I lied, the easier it got and the more I thought, "this might not be such a bad thing after all". Not super-big lies, mind you...just reasonably believable tales that were just mundane enough to not elicit requests for elaboration. So, while the stressed out, bawlbaby-poopypants divorcee's at my table - drama vomited all over the place, I said things like..."I had a cat once. It died." Then if anyone looked at me for longer than a half-second expecting me to elaborate, I folded my arms across my chest and looked around the room... and whistled. It was the most aggravating, annoying, FUN thing I've done in a long time.

After an hour and a figgin' half of Pamela's whining about her drunken stepfathers, how she became a lesbian, an alcoholic and then wrecked her car and real-life angels from heaven appeared and drove her home and turned her whole life around and now she's not an alcoholic or a lesbian anymore....

...and listening to the answers given by the people at my table about their retina disease, horrible husbands, evil daughter-in-law, homosexual son, chronic unemployment and psoriasis...

I realized...

I may not be a social butterfly outside of my career and the volunteer work I do...so my dance card isn't full - so what....and that might mean that my kids will eventually leave me at home alone...but I have a really good life. A healthy, happy, well-adjusted life. I have a great career, wonderful kids, a handful of really great friends and my cat (she's not really dead). And when I feel like ranting like a lunatic...I have this blog. Yeah, life is good....and being alone is good...very, very good....because the alternative is being a member of "The Loser's Club"

Maybe it wasn't a waste of make-up after all.