Struggling to do the wrong thing

"It won't kill you to go," Dad said.

"You're terrible, you know that?" I replied.

"Why?"

I rolled my eyes and said, "Just Monday you said, 'No one's going to make you go.'"

"Well, I can't make you do anything."

I sighed. "But you're trying to guilt trip me."

"No," he mused, "I'm just trying to cajole you into going."

Blog material crossed my mind as the one pro to going, but I quickly dismissed it.

The only reason for not going to our neighbor's house for drinks and dinner that I didn't voice is that I feel like the kid who was invited out of courtesy but isn't really expected to go. Considering my age it's not really valid, but I don't feel invested in living here at all. Always under the surface is the idea that at any moment, I may move, my life may radically change. (How it will without some concerted effort on my part is beyond me, but that's angst for another time.)

Our conversation turned to what he would say to explain my absence. I opted for vague and noncommittal, but he was right to point out that eventually some explanation would be needed. Ha, he's composing his email RSVP as I type.

"So are you going to go?" he just asked me.

I looked at him like he was crazy and said, "No." He's going with vague for now, i.e., we'll attend but Claire won't be able to make it.

Where was I? Right, reasons for later. I could tell he wasn't hip to even slight fabrication- hell, that's why they're going in the first place. It took little time for me to say that I didn't care what he said. Tell them I'm a hermit, a recluse. Tell them I just don't want to meet the neighbors, that I don't feel social because I'm not working. Tell them that I'm shy and find it very draining to be with a lot of people I don't know. All would be true.

Dad suggested that I could cut short the work and future plan inquiries with a series of nothings, but I pointed out that that wouldn't be sociable. In an effort not to be rude, I know how it will go: I will stammer through vagaries incoherently while my cheeks flush and then get offered lots of inapplicable advice.

A stroke of mischievous inspiration hit me: "Just tell them I can't go because I went off my medication." Dad laughed.