Hello my lovelies! I have what I hope is a fun story today, and definitely one that is a bit humiliating for me (that’s precisely why I’m telling it, unsurprisingly). Let me set the scene a little bit.
Now that I’ve gotten a bit older and transitioned to a more professional life, I spend a lot less time partying than I used to. More specifically, I spend basically no time partying — unless you count gathering with like maybe ten friends to have a few drinks and talk for a couple hours as a ‘party’. Nevertheless, I still want to be social, and sometimes it feels like I am holding together a disparate group of quickly-diverging college friends through sheer force of will. I’m always the one to plan things, invite people, etc.
As one of the few people in my extended social circle who can afford to live entirely alone with no roommates or anything like that, I end up hosting these events in my apartment more than I would probably like to in an ideal world. It can be fun, I like to cook and entertain and the cleanup isn’t usually too bad, but it can be real irritating when someone you don’t like ends up in your home. Someone like Max.