The hubby and I just returned from a long road trip, 7652 kilometers to be exact. I’m as tired as if I walked the whole way. My bed feels like heaven. I’ve been home for three days and my brain is still in a fugue. (Oh, I seriously like the word fugue.) The best part is that I’m back on the ranch where there aren’t any people.

You may not know this Dear Reader, but I’m not much of a people person. When I’m around crowds, I have to make a concerted effort not to chew off a leg to get out of the small-talk trap. Usually when I’m standing around eating Cheetos and failing to look like I belong, I’m doing math in my head. Trying to figure out how long I have to wait before I can tunnel out, like in the Great Escape, leaving behind a trail of glowing orange crumbs.

Me: I’ve consumed four pounds of fake, greasy, radioactive cancer causing edible oil products, bared my teeth in what I hope will pass for a smile, said hi to three people and a stuffed dog, stared at a plastic petunia for seven minutes, plus I’ve shuffled my feet in the only line-dance pattern I know for at least four additional minutes, that must equal enough time where I can legitimately skulk away into a quiet corner, pull out my book and try to look like I’m working on the squirrel homelessness problem. Now how did my, Pondering Deep Philosophical Thoughts Please Do Not Disturb, pose look? Oh no! I think someone recognized me. Where’s the bathroom? 

Lucky for me, the hubby is our equivalent of Julie the Cruise Director. He can move around groups of people with ease. Look like he is smiling and laughing instead of contemplating ripping out throats. And he doesn’t seem to be overcome with giant waves of exhaustion while trying to maintain small-talk. Nor does he blurt out inappropriate conversational faux pas.

Me: You and your husband look like you’re madly in love. Oh, he’s the plumber.

Me: That’s an interesting dog. What breed is it? Your daughter, Trixie? Her tail is what fooled me.

Me: Did you know that the Tunga Flea will lay eggs inside the human body?

Did I mention that I’m happy to be home? Now I can be my usual scintillating social butterfly self, as long as it doesn’t involve, you know, real live human people.


2 thoughts on “This Writer in a Crowd

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