Most people can’t imagine that I am an introvert. I have a loud voice that carries across a crowed room. I am someone that will yell “OY! EVERYONE QUIET DOWN A MINUTE,” when someone at a gathering or meeting is trying unsuccessfully to get everyone to pipe the fuck down and pay attention. I have no problems telling ridiculous jokes in mixed company and I have no shame in dropping the word fuck in every day conversation. The problem is getting me out of the house.
I am an extroverted introvert. I know that sounds like a bunch of hooey but, it’s for real. When I am home, it’s the best thing ever. Wearing comfy sweat pants and over sized tees and having access to my favorite juice at any time, it’s awesome. Laying on my couch and binge watching Downton Abbey on Amazon Video nonstop with the occasional bowl of ice cream drowned in chocolate syrup and melted peanut butter. Nothing sounds more perfect. Me, cocooned in a fuzzy blanket, watching TV in a medium grade sugar induced coma.
Most of my friends don’t understand this. They assume that I want to be surrounded with chatter and socialization; to be a social butterfly as they perceive me. But that is not me. It hasn’t been me since I was… I don’t even know, 2001? 2000? I can’t even remember honestly because I have never been that into hanging out and doing shit. I enjoy doing what I want comfortably in my own home. Alone most of the time. I could go days without social interaction other than going to the grocery store and spending 4 minutes talking to the cashier ringing my groceries.
I hit the jack pot with The Sailor. He’s calm, quiet and shares my affinity for hunkering down at home. We can sit in the living room side by side reading or watching a movie content in each other’s presence. We can drive in the car silent listening to the radio and not feel compelled to fill the time with chatter unless we have something important to talk about. He accepts both sides of me; the hermit that would rather forgo pants for a night in a dimly lit room watching movies than getting dressed up and made up to go mingle in a crowd of people 95% of which I barely know if at all as well as the loud mouth goof that likes to make people laugh.
So you see, when I decline an invite to go to a party or out for a girls night, it’s not that I don’t like you or your company, it’s just that the thought of putting on pants and doing my make up let alone getting off the couch is simply too overwhelming to me at the time. It’s me, not you. Don’t think I won’t ever accept. I will, eventually. You should also know that I’ll never lie to you when I decline. I’ll alway be honest. If I simply don’t feel like it, I’ll tell you as such. No lame excuses from me. Try not to take that personal either.
So there you have it. I rarely want to leave my funk hole of home but, when I do, I have no problem socializing and bringing laughter to the room. And when I do leave my house I promise to wear pants.