I have a chronic case of jomo. If I had a dollar for every social plan I canceled, I’d finally be able to build the mountain-top isolation chamber deep in the Canadian Rockies that I’ve always wanted. Or better yet, a self-sustaining bubble on the bottom of the sea to live inside.
That said, I love the idea of a party. So I almost always RSVP yes. And sure, sometimes I do go and I always have a much better time than I expect to, and am less one-on-one weird than I think I am. In fact, nine times out of ten, I wind up having a blast. It’s just the getting-out-the-door part. That part is impossible, especially after the taking-off-your-bra-and-pants time of day. Now that I think about it, getting dressed to go to the party is the biggest barrier to actually going to the party.
When you already kind of don’t want to go out, putting together a fun outfit feels like a Herculean task. Just flat out impossible.
Well, it’s not impossible.