The pretty purple invitation’s been sitting on my desk, next to the computer, for weeks. Bella has picked it up a half dozen times and I’ve rescued it from various fates. It’s been buried, moved back to the top of the stack, used as a bookmark, placed on the computer “so I won’t forget to call.” The only thing that hasn’t happened is my actually responding to the “RSVP by April 21” plea.
Today is the last day. After today I am officially rude for not replying. I probably can’t go to the party if I don’t let the hostess know I’ll be there.
I finally pick up the phone, open the invitation to get the number, start to dial. And then the words on the line right above the phone number catch my eye. Is that an email address? Saved by the bell!!!
I put down the phone, pick up the laptop and dash off a response. If I had only seen that email address earlier, I wouldn’t have been doing this last-minute, under the gun responding. But the thing is, I hate making phone calls. I hate it. To the point it might almost be called a phobia.
Oh I don’t mind calling my sister. Or my parents. Or a very short list of friends. But anything else gets delayed. Doctor’s visits? How long after I found out I was pregnant did I finally pick up the phone to call my OB? You don’t want to know. How long did it take me to find another OB when mine told me he couldn’t deliver the baby because he was going into semi-retirement? Far, far too long. Mostly because I just couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone and make the call.
I was lucky that Dom doesn’t have this phobia or we might never have gotten married. He called to make arrangements for the caterer, the hall, etc. Because if it had been up to me… well, it wouldn’t have been pretty.
I know it’s silly. But I also know it’s not something I’m just going to get over. I’m phone shy and email is my saving grace.
