She'd make a really nice friend, if she wasn't such a racist

Our track record for Making New Friends just got a little more pitiful.

I don’t know about you, but the older I get the harder I find it to make new friends. For starters, for as long as I can remember my Hubby hasn’t been free on the weekends, so that kind of sets us up for failure right off the bat. And as for myself, I’m a closet introvert who usually starts off strong before I go and say something totally asinine.

Oh, I might be pretty charming and “on” up until the moment when I say something awkward like, “Hey, did you guys see the A&E documentary on those virgins the other day? The ones who waited until their wedding day to kiss, and then made out the entire time and made all of their loved ones want to vomit, because it looked like they were trying to eat each other’s faces off? That was really awesome."

And then our host might give me a look that says, “Oh ya? Well my mother was a virgin.”

So as you can see, it’s complicated. But that doesn’t mean we don’t still hold out a glimmer of hope for that perfect match in couple camaraderie. You know, lovely people we like who we don't think are weirdos (and visa versa).

I tried to remain optimistic when Hubby told me an acquaintance had invited us over for a cookout, a mixer of sorts for people in his industry. I mean, what were the chances we’d be the only ones to show up, anyway?

Ya, turns out the chances were pretty good. That was okay, though; we might be the only ones there but I could go with the flow, for Hubby’s sake. You never know, maybe we’d really hit it off with these people! They have a child around Will’s age, after all, and the wife, who hails from Central America, seemed pleasant enough, initially.

Before she started tossing out the racial slurs, that is.

We were in this woman's home for maybe ten minutes when she turned to her son, smiled and said, “Oh, don’t yell! Don’t be loud, like the blacks!”

Oh, Mary, Mother of God! She could have slapped me across the face and I would have been less taken off guard. She may as well have just told me that she eats baby bunnies or trips elderlies for a living.

Help! My hostess is a bigot!

This was bizarre. Like, totally surreal. I suddenly became completely engrossed in the blocks I was stacking and just made like I didn’t hear her. I mean, did she really just say that? Perhaps I misheard. Yes, maybe I just heard her wrong. Her accent was pretty thick, after all. Thank God my baby is too young to understand whatever it was she may or may not have said.

It was then the awful realization dawned on me that I would have to spend the next two or three hours of my life with this madwoman. Where the eff was Hubby?

A while later, my son removed the steering wheel from a ride-on toy car, poked it through the slat of a plastic lawn chair and began making "vroom!" noises. Our hostess took note: “Oh look! He’s Chinese now!”

Okay, I’m not sure what that’s supposed to even mean. Something had to have been getting lost in translation, right? Only, she teaches English as a second language for a living, so I kind of think she knows what she’s saying.


Yesterday, Hubby got an email from the guy saying what a nice time they'd had and to just let him know when we could all get together again, this time at our place. Here’s an idea: don’t call us, dude; we’ll call you! Really, we will! (When Hell turns icy and I drive a motorized plastic lawn chair down Storrow Drive, naked.)



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