I don’t suppose it will come as a surprise to anyone that I’m not especially adept at dating. I don’t know what the cool kids like doing in their free time… and mostly I don’t care. Apparently, though, I’m even worse when it’s time to engage in the getting to know you small talk that’s the true bane of social interaction.
Let me give you a for instance. I was talking to someone last week, laying out our likes and dislikes, when she mentioned enjoying “house parties.”
My eyes lit up and I opined extensively on the late-Victorian and Edwardian era’s parties thrown at the great houses across England and their flair for not particularly subtle opulence. I even offered a couple of good book recommendations on the topic as I’d recently read several that covered some of the legendary parties at Chatsworth and Blenheim.
As it turns out she meant she liked going to a friend or associate’s house where someone may or may not have brought a keg or some $3 wine… and not studying the habits and trends of the 19th and early 20thcentury British aristocracy.
House party. Same words, two entirely different meanings.
About one a year I go through a phase where I decide to put myself “out there.” It’s becoming increasingly clear that I honestly shouldn’t be allowed to talk to people without the whole thing being heavily scripted.
It’s safe to say I’m not surprised we haven’t had any further conversations.
Despite my misgivings about people and groups, I’m a reasonable enough adult human being to know that both are sometimes unavoidable. While social engagements aren’t something I seek out, they are a fact of life from time to time. In those circumstances, I’m perfectly capable of behaving myself in polite company, of making small talk, and generally being a pleasant enough human being.
JEFFREYTHARP.COM 