For those of you who think that I’ve come really close to conquering my social anxiety issues…wellll…let me burst your bubble. I ain’t even close.
This weekend Rambo and I had a birthday party to go to. It was with all of our motorcycle club friends. We were going to take a fat, naked nap and then go shopping before the party and I knew we’d also stop and get some frozen yogurt too. We’d sit on the bright orange couches in there like love drunk teenagers while we ate it and life would be perfect for just a moment.
I wasn’t nervous for the party. That’s pretty strange, isn’t it? I have no idea why. I knew that I’d only know just a few people there but I just wasn’t scared. Bikers are some of the strangest and sometimes scariest looking people BUT they are also the most non-judgemental and welcoming people that I know. Probably because they’ve been judged all their lives.
I got ready. Dressed up in my newest Harley duds. Went shopping while people stared at me and Rambo like we were idiots because we kind of looked bad ass.
Rambo didn’t wear a coat and wore one of his tighter HD shirts so he looked especially buff and had just shaved his whole head and had his riding boots on too. His shirt was short sleeved so all his arm tats were visible. He can be intimidating looking if you don’t know him.
I was feeling pretty good about myself and my non-hived body until we pulled into the yogurt place’s parking lot.
In the window, I could see that there was a couple from town in there with their daughter.
A nice couple.
A couple I really like.
I grabbed Rambo’s hand and said, “Forget it – let’s go to Kohl’s first. I’m sorry.”
He was all like WTH? We’re here. I thought you wanted yogurt now.
Um yah. I did. Buuuuttt – I just saw so and so and I don’t want to see them or talk to them. Please.
Ugh. I let social anxiety win that time. I just wasn’t confident enough to walk in there like that and explain myself. Throw me into the party where every single man is wearing leather and tattoos and chaps and boots and I’m good. I FIT IN.
Walk me into a bright, open, family oriented yogurt place filled with kids and families next to my biker husband and we stick out like a sore thumb. We just do. That’s out of my element enough already. Don’t mix in knowing someone there and having to make small talk and be okay.
I can’t do it. I didn’t do it.
I was disappointed in myself that I made Rambo drive away. And relieved at the same time.
I can’t even keep up with my own mood swings. Who the hell knows how Rambo does it?
Beyond that – the weekend was perfect. It’s Rambo’s last literal day off for another 40 some days so Sunday was bittersweet. We didn’t want it to end. We took lots of fat, naked naps and hung out and worked out and just lived like a normal family on a weekend.
Except it’s not normal. It’s rare and it won’t happen again for at least 5 weeks.
One of us needs to win the lottery STAT. Rambo asked if he could stick me in his pocket and take me with him when he went back to work and I told him I’m just not thin enough for that yet. We gotta stick to winning the lottery.
It’s our only shot.