In which I talk about me some more

So anyway, I invited loads of people to my leaving do this Friday. As you do.

I trod carefully though – walked the line between friendship and nonchalance. I mean, nobody wants what our last marketing manager had for his night out – him and four slightly uncomfortable colleagues (two of whom were myself and the Other Half*) all sitting in an over-bright bar making stilted small talk. I seem to recall making up a hitherto-forgotten appointment and ducking out after an hour. Excruciating.

Anyway.

Having sent my painstakingly crafted email (come for a drink! It’ll be fun! I don’t care if you don’t turn up!) I sat back and watched the replies trickle in. Most people were up for it, a couple couldn’t make it and one or two simply ignored the invitation**. The result being that somewhere upwards of thirty people will be attempting to gain collective entry to pubs in town this Friday night. Bagsy first to the bar.

I was a bit surprised at one of the non-responses. We get on quite well, you see, despite him depressing me with the news that I am technically old enough to be his mother. Quite a few people from his department were coming out, so I thought he’d be up for it and didn’t want to leave him out. He was duly invited, but didn’t get back to me. Oh well, I thought, perhaps he’s just a bit shy of being surrounded by loads of raucously drunk colleagues in a place where his mates might see him. Can’t blame the boy, really. Only, yesterday, on my way for my ninety-millionth wee*** of the day, our paths crossed. Hello [person I invited that never responded], said I. Hello, [not Surly’s real name but Surly’s assistant’s name], replied he.

Ah.

So, what do you think I did next?

Did I do the sensible thing; laugh a bit (but not unkindly) and say oh dear, you seem to have us confused! I am [my real name]! The other lady is [assistant]! I suppose this means you didn’t realise the invitation for Friday was from me! Would you like to come?

Did I bollocks. Crippled by some unnameable and completely pointless social phobia, I simply smiled and carried on walking. Why? What’s wrong with me? What was so difficult about telling someone my name?

I think I was worried about making him feel bad. It’s always been the same with me, ever since I watched that episode of the Kids from Fame where it was Mrs Berg’s birthday and she invited loads of people to her party only they all (somehow) got the wrong day and nobody showed up and the final shot was of poor Mrs Berg’s old, confused face as she stood surrounded by bunting in an empty room and I cried.

For fuck’s sake.

* I am not at all confident about the grammar in this sentence****

** Note to my ex-manager – if a person has their email program set to ask for a read receipt, that person can tell when you delete their emails without reading them. You short-arsed, unpopular twat. I only asked you because I felt sorry for you.

*** Seriously. Is there really any health benefit to be gained from drinking two litres of water a day if you simply wee it out all day long like an organic perpetual motion machine?

**** I am fairly confident, however, that the part of a sentence in parentheses (brackets? Parentheses? Help! Grammar minefield!) is not called a sentence*****

***** Shutting up now. Really.