At Least They're Committed

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Ellen and I were sitting under the umbrella on the patio at the pizzeria sucking down wine and mussels. She’s abandoning me, that one is, in July. We have to get in as many happy hours as humanly possible before then.

“It’s true,” I protested. “I’m not clever at work. Everyone around me is full of one-liners and quippy comebacks, and there I sit.” I sigh and dip some crusty bread in marinara sauce.

Ellen is perplexed and as she ponders I go on. “Part of it is I censor myself. For instance once my comeback would have been ‘do one-night stands count?’ But then I realized where I was and who I was talking to and I choked back the words and said something plastic and benign, like, ‘no.’”

I’m not the “life of the party” type, and that’s not what I’m striving for. It would simply be nice when I talk to certain people to be able to engage in the conversation instead of tripping over my thoughts and second-guessing my word choices.

We determined that I’m mildly intimidated and that I lack confidence. I need to work on that. Looks like I’ll get to see Kevin again soon. Kevin will know what to do.