They like me! They really, really like me!
Last week I got invited on a two-day trip that would have involved much driving, debauchery, and fun with a group of people that I like and respect.
I can't go, since I can't be away from Little C for 48 hours. But getting to go isn't the point; it's the fact that I got invited at all that's important here.
See, let's back this up about fifteen years. It was time for the annual Regiment (that'd be high school marching band and drill team - yes, I was a band nerd for three years) trip out-of-town. I didn't go. The reason I didn't go was because the hotel rooms would each have four same-sex people in them, and it had been made abundantly clear to me that there weren't three other females willing to share a room with me. (I had Teh Gay, you see. And they didn't want to get infected. Or maybe they were scared I'd try to rape them in their sleep. The point is that they were a bunch of ignorant homophobes. There was one single person - S - who would have shared a room with me; no other females were evolved enough to realize I wasn't an 'abomination' to be avoided at all costs.) So rather than have it be this humiliating experience where I went and then had to stay in the same hotel room with the teachers because none of the students would let me share their room, I just didn't go.
That happened three years in a row.
Now, I've been invited on other trips since, such as going to Stargaze with plurdawg, and that helped to heal those nobody-wants-me scars somewhat. But since becoming a mother five years ago, invitations have dried up. I understand - I mean, probably nobody asks because they assume I won't be able to leave the kids. And they're right, I wouldn't be able to at this point in time.
But it's lovely to be asked. It comforts that inner little girl who, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary, still thinks that people don't like her.
So, to the person who asked me along on the trip: thank you. It really does mean a lot. :)
I can't go, since I can't be away from Little C for 48 hours. But getting to go isn't the point; it's the fact that I got invited at all that's important here.
See, let's back this up about fifteen years. It was time for the annual Regiment (that'd be high school marching band and drill team - yes, I was a band nerd for three years) trip out-of-town. I didn't go. The reason I didn't go was because the hotel rooms would each have four same-sex people in them, and it had been made abundantly clear to me that there weren't three other females willing to share a room with me. (I had Teh Gay, you see. And they didn't want to get infected. Or maybe they were scared I'd try to rape them in their sleep. The point is that they were a bunch of ignorant homophobes. There was one single person - S - who would have shared a room with me; no other females were evolved enough to realize I wasn't an 'abomination' to be avoided at all costs.) So rather than have it be this humiliating experience where I went and then had to stay in the same hotel room with the teachers because none of the students would let me share their room, I just didn't go.
That happened three years in a row.
Now, I've been invited on other trips since, such as going to Stargaze with plurdawg, and that helped to heal those nobody-wants-me scars somewhat. But since becoming a mother five years ago, invitations have dried up. I understand - I mean, probably nobody asks because they assume I won't be able to leave the kids. And they're right, I wouldn't be able to at this point in time.
But it's lovely to be asked. It comforts that inner little girl who, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary, still thinks that people don't like her.
So, to the person who asked me along on the trip: thank you. It really does mean a lot. :)