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Being mature and pretty much civilized by now, I no longer do this. But for many years I never went to a party without a book in my purse, just in case.
Sometimes I had no need of it and let it remain nestled at the bottom of my owl-trimmed hippie tote bag or crammed
into a fancier, more delicate handbag—depending on the type of party.
But what comfort it gave me to know that I could retreat if I had to. I could find a corner and blot out my feelings by immersing myself in, say, Jay Gatsby's disastrous attempts to manage his own social life.
The dangers of a party were twofold: No one would love me (by which I meant no one would find me interesting enough to talk to). Or someone would be drawn to me but would be the wrong person and I wouldn't be smart enough to know the difference.
The solution, which took decades to emerge, was to recognize finally my own worth and not to look for it in others' eyes. Now I can attend parties without a book.
Well, maybe a Sudoku or two tucked into my pocket, just in case.
Blog1: http://www.fastandfearlesscooking.com
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