Dinner party of doom

I’m still finding it hard to believe that a bad dinner party could upset me so much.  It really was awful.  They really hadn’t thought it out. 

My dad invited a Russian workmate around to dinner.  The Russian guy brought his wife and mother-in-law; Dad brought my grandmother and me.  I don’t know what he was thinking.  Maybe he just wanted to show off that we were Russian too, or perhaps he thought the guy was lonely and felt sorry for him.  Whatever it was, he and Mum hadn’t planned on doing much of the socialising themselves. 

I’m not really sure why they invited me.  Mum rang me just the night before, while they’d had the thing planned for a while before that.  Why did I go?  Well, I thought they needed me to do them a favour.  I thought maybe I ought to go. 

True to form, Mum and Dad spent the first hour in the kitchen, leaving Babi to entertain their guests.  They always seem to do something like that.  Assuming that it just sort of happens, and not realising it takes a lot of effort and skill.  Even Babi couldn’t really manage it, and I wasn’t much help.  Especially without speaking Russian.  I was almost completely left out of the conversation. 

Dad came in once to offer his sickly-sweet drinks, painfully self-conscious, giving an awkward atmosphere to the whole event.  Then he started talking about me to one of the guests.  Whenever there are Russian guests, my parents seem compelled to tell them of the Russian language courses I took at university.  Which only makes my inability to speak Russian more awkwardly apparent. 

I’ve found that when people don’t have enough to talk about, they generally start talking about things they shouldn’t.  Babi started her rant about how unfair it was that Russian immigrants apparently get public housing when locals do not.  In front of a woman hoping to become such an immigrant.  And she started talking about politics.  "I voted Liberal!  And who did you vote for dear?"  she asked me.  "The Greens," I answer uncomfortably.  I don’t know these people at all, and I don’t usually talk politics even with those I know well.  "Greens," she smiles faux-sweetly.  "To save the whales?"

I went outside at that point.  I would have left if I wasn’t so averse to making scenes.  Never again.  I’ve had it.  That’s the last time I drink alcohol to be polite, the last time I eat too much because someone put it on my plate.  I sincerely hope it’s the last invitation I accept as a favour to my parents. 

You know, I often accept unpromising invitations because I’m lonely and I hope to meet new people.  But it never ends well.  I think sometimes I feel lonely because of the company I’m in.  I really would have been much happier staying at home.  If only I’d had the confidence to do so.  Most people would, I imagine. 

Ugh!  That’s got to be the worst dinner party I’ve been to in a very long time.  I feel thoroughly humiliated for even agreeing to go.  You’d think I would have learnt by now.