Not a Fun Girl

When I was a Junior in high school, my Spanish class took a trip to Cancun. 

Looking back, I have no idea why my parents ever let me get on my very first airplane, to fly to a foreign country, with my friends and boyfriend, to get drunk every night in a Mexcian disco while also pretending to learn about Mexican culture. 

Maybe it was a different time, maybe they were ignorant to the realities of teens in a country with no enforceable drinking age, or maybe they knew me and felt confident that I’d be in bed by 9pm every night because I’ve been operating as a cranky 80 year old woman since the day I was born. 

And they were right. 

Not only did I not stay out late, I spent my days shopping in the local markets and sightseeing while my much cooler friends had a blast at the beach. 

I have always been lame. My social battery couldn’t jump a car. 

While my friends all got apartments together on party streets, I moved off campus my second year of college, got a nice two bedroom townhouse with my boyfriend, and filled it with knock-off Pottery Barn furniture and two adopted cats. We met other couples friends for brunch and hosted game nights. 

Even now, you can get maybe one good night at a bar with me a year, anything more than that, and I’m coming up with an excuse to cancel, and there’s an 80% chance that excuse will be diarrhea. 

I’m a homebody. I am a slow-life girl. In the words of my astrologer best friend, Tracy White, I’m the most Taurus that’s ever Taurus’ed. I fucking love my bed and my favorite hobby is television.  

You can lure me to a patio with a pitcher of margaritas and unlimited chips and salsa, and you’ll get the best version of me under that umbrella until about 9pm, and then I’m going home. 

I’m not an introvert in the stereotypical sense. Despite my insane RBF, I actually like chatting with people, and I’m a real good time before the sun sets, which varies depending on daylight savings and season. 

Do I have friends more outgoing and adventurous than me? I do, and the reason they are still my friends is because they’ve stopped asking me to do things with them, and just meet me where I am, which is usually for lunch on a weekday. 

You cannot make me feel bad about this. No one should feel bad about this. Enforce your boundaries, embrace your soft spaces, elevate the importance of your comfort. 

In a world where everyone wants to be fun, be in bed by 8pm, boo.