This will be awkward, I thought. What do I say to the humble goddess that has just emerged from Mr. Kowalski's bedroom?
I didn't have to worry about it. She ducked into the kitchen without so much as an "excuse me," leaving me to sit on the futon and stop rubbing my thighs. Maybe this was even more awkward. How could I seem at my most cool when whichever geekagers had just arrived opened that door?
Not five seconds before it did, I jumped up and crossed over to the bookshelf, trying to peruse the titles without giving away my accelerated heart rate. Success!
Erika and Esther squeezed through the door together, with Ronnie, Tracy, Bob, and Pam following, and Mr. K. bringing up the rear, of course. Not that I'm a connoisseur of parties or anything, but I always thought it seemed ridiculously contrived in old movies and sitcoms when someone would have a party and everyone - the entire party - would arrive at the same time. When does that ever happen in real life? Well, it happened on that day, if you didn't count me. And obviously, no one did.
How were they all laughing already before they entered the room? Could they do anything more to make me feel excluded? I took a deep breath. Just think of it as another FWS meeting, I told myself. Those had been terrifying at first; not just at the first meetings but in the first few minutes of each meeting. It wasn't till we started reading that I ever started feeling comfortable at them, and I never felt completely at home. I just liked being near Erika, and I figured everyone in the room knew that, but I really didn't care what they thought.
Within an hour, it was absolutely as comfortable as sitting in the library reading Finnegans Wake. Eventually, Ronnie and Esther started arguing about abortion rights, while Pam shot video with her camera that she promised to upload to Tubular, and Mr. K. and the rest of us just made snarky jokes about how heated they were getting. When I say "the rest of us," I'm leaving out Michelle; she eventually joined us from the kitchen and met everybody, but she didn't take an interest in any of the proceedings, and eventually started flipping through a magazine.
Through all of this, Erika sat next to me on the futon. Her arm brushed past me a number of times on the way to the Cheetos, and every time it did my arm hair stood on end. I didn't get an electric shock exactly, but it was almost like that. I started worrying that I was sweating, that my hands were clammy, that I was going to gross her out, but she stuck close to me all day and often struck up conversations with just me, prompting me to ponder what that exactly meant in terms of my chances.
I didn't have to worry about it. She ducked into the kitchen without so much as an "excuse me," leaving me to sit on the futon and stop rubbing my thighs. Maybe this was even more awkward. How could I seem at my most cool when whichever geekagers had just arrived opened that door?
Not five seconds before it did, I jumped up and crossed over to the bookshelf, trying to peruse the titles without giving away my accelerated heart rate. Success!
Erika and Esther squeezed through the door together, with Ronnie, Tracy, Bob, and Pam following, and Mr. K. bringing up the rear, of course. Not that I'm a connoisseur of parties or anything, but I always thought it seemed ridiculously contrived in old movies and sitcoms when someone would have a party and everyone - the entire party - would arrive at the same time. When does that ever happen in real life? Well, it happened on that day, if you didn't count me. And obviously, no one did.
How were they all laughing already before they entered the room? Could they do anything more to make me feel excluded? I took a deep breath. Just think of it as another FWS meeting, I told myself. Those had been terrifying at first; not just at the first meetings but in the first few minutes of each meeting. It wasn't till we started reading that I ever started feeling comfortable at them, and I never felt completely at home. I just liked being near Erika, and I figured everyone in the room knew that, but I really didn't care what they thought.
Within an hour, it was absolutely as comfortable as sitting in the library reading Finnegans Wake. Eventually, Ronnie and Esther started arguing about abortion rights, while Pam shot video with her camera that she promised to upload to Tubular, and Mr. K. and the rest of us just made snarky jokes about how heated they were getting. When I say "the rest of us," I'm leaving out Michelle; she eventually joined us from the kitchen and met everybody, but she didn't take an interest in any of the proceedings, and eventually started flipping through a magazine.
Through all of this, Erika sat next to me on the futon. Her arm brushed past me a number of times on the way to the Cheetos, and every time it did my arm hair stood on end. I didn't get an electric shock exactly, but it was almost like that. I started worrying that I was sweating, that my hands were clammy, that I was going to gross her out, but she stuck close to me all day and often struck up conversations with just me, prompting me to ponder what that exactly meant in terms of my chances.
