I've outed myself here as a Recovering Introvert, so regular readers will recognize the above thought process as my usual social interaction mindset when meeting new people. I'm almost entirely thrilled at the prospect of doing so & do generally enjoy myself once I'm out, but oh, that 1% . . . it's already back on the Pretty HQ couch, eager to dive into
my "Real Housewives" archive a new book or blog or some other solitary, safe pursuit.
So tonight I salute, um, myself, for not only going to a happy hour full of new and cute and fun ladies, but actually organizing it myself. Not to brag or anything - oh, nevermind, why wouldn't I, I'm tremendous
and full of merlot - but I'm kinda proud of it. And relieved to find a group of women also looking for friends and things to do here. Not precisely a novel concept, I realize, but one I tend to forget during this number:
Excited excited excited, scared scared, excited excited excited, scared scared.
PS - Pets, how long can I milk this "new girl in town" act? I'm coming up on one year, so maybe one more? Two more? Help a newbie out here . . .