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With some disdain and a great deal of steel, she begins again. |
| Three months ago, maybe a bit more, M. and I invited a woman in our neighbourhood over to our home so that her little girl could play with the wee one. I'm not much for small talk, but I understood that this meant I would be the hostess while he went about his business in his office. The wee one was ecstatic, having a friend over to see her room, her dolls, her stuffies, and I laid out a spread of homemade banana muffins and coffee in the china we've inherited from M's dad. Not pretentious, though, I mean the china has a very mid-seventies pattern, very bright with birds all over it, and the muffins were a far cry from anything fancy, so I thought things were friendly and welcoming, enough so that the mother would feel at ease. We had two hours of conversation, with me nervously prattling on about all kinds of things, but remembering to ask questions, and she was pleasant and responded appropriately, though lacking any real enthusiasm. She was distracted by her baby boy, who was crawling about and getting into things, but I wasn't uptight about it, I just let her do what she needed to do. Things ended well, with her daughter throwing the anticipated fit upon leaving, and me expressing my hope that they'd come back soon, that we'd have to be sure to get the girls together again in the near future. Now, these many months later, there has been zero contact, despite M. calling and leaving messages requesting the wee ones get together, despite him stopping by and ringing the door when he was passing by with the wee one for a walk, which had my girl asking over and over again why Fiona hasn't been over to play. I don't get it. She was eager to accept a playdate before she actually met me, and then she did, and has subsequently dropped off the planet. I haven't thought about it much, though, because I've had other things to think about, but today when the wee one went to play at a different friend's house, across the street from the home of the woman in question, M. asked the parent who'd invited the wee one if she'd noticed that the other family might have been away. He explained that he's left a few messages to arrange playdates but that there has not even been a courtesy return phone call, and the woman shook her head and said 'I see them nearly every day.' Now, I find this not only strange, but rude. I actually sat and thought about the things I'd said, the way I might have overdone the spread that day, but I sincerely have no idea what might have provoked this coldness. I analyzed my behaviour, dwelled on all the things I don't like about myself, wondered if I talked too much, too little, didn't ask the right questions, etc. It bothers me a lot, actually, that she couldn't even be bothered to call us back, or, on the off chance that she was really busy herself, that she didn't call to arrange a playdate for daughter at a different time. If people don't click, that's okay, but there's no reason the kids shouldn't play together. And, why didn't we click? I mean, I didn't get to know her that well, but I hadn't discovered anything in her character which might dissuade me from wanting to pursue a friendship. It seems to me that she's the one who closed the door on the possibility. I am making the assumption that this has to do with me because of the fact that she and her husband met M. first and seemed keen on arranging a play date. The only variable that seemed to change things was me. I hate that my girl has been asking repeatedly why she can't see her little friend, and I have to lie and say that they're out of town or that they're busy. I can't very well say that her mother didn't have the decency to return a phone call. It would embarrass me to say it out loud, even to a four-year-old. I am really tired of always feeling like things are my fault when it comes to friends. If only I were more...If only I had said...I'm a decent friend, I deserve better than that. My friend K. called on Monday and left a breathless message about how she wanted to know how my wee one was doing, since my sister had called her and mentioned the allergic reaction to amoxicillin. I called back an hour later and got the machine. I then told her that I would be home all night and to call when she could, and I've heard nothing since. I also sent a lengthy email to my other friend K., wishing her a happy birthday, telling her all the things that were going on with me, asking questions about her life, and have also heard nothing in response. When my friend C. called tonight, I mentioned all three scenarios and expressed my concern over whether or not I'd offended any of the aforementioned parties, and she simply laughed and said 'well, I called you!'. Yeah, but the paranoia doesn't go away with a few kind words. I get that people are busy, I have my stuff too, but returning a phone call or an email is basic courtesy and requires minimal effort. It doesn't have to be an hour-long saga, just a few quick, reassuring words so the person who took the initiative doesn't feel like such a colossal reject. Someone takes the time to acknowledge you by email, you send a quick thank-you back. Someone leaves a message on your machine asking for a return phone call, you do it when you get the chance. This is fundamental good manners. No one's asking for a lifetime commitment. The weird thing is that when I was working, I was considered to be the most popular manager among the staff. I was the one they went to with problems, the one they confided in, so why is it that with regular moms I'm such a pariah? I get that they don't always get me, that a lot of them probably misinterpret my shyness as snobbery or standoffishness, but the people I've made room for, the ones I've shared history with or banana muffins with should know that I'm a fairly warm individual. Also, my interests. No one I know cares about the stuff I do and often stare at me blankly when I talk about any of it. In computer class, while giving a semi-lecture on Twitter and whatnot, somehow the conversation came round to the things I do for fun with my computer. I mentioned writing, and someone asked if I ever had anything published, and I proudly said 'Yes! Just recently, actually'. Then, the same person asked if I got paid, to which I said no. Well, they asked, why do it then? I then explained that it's a hobby, that I get a lot of joy out of it but that I never expect to ever make a dime off of it. They stared at me blankly, and I felt quite small, before another of them piped up with 'so, you just write because?'. Yes, I said, confused. The blank stares turned into circus freak stares. I stopped talking right about then. I'm pretty much sick of people.    |
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