Party Pooper much?

As of 8:30 last night, this was me. A sad, pathetic woman (girl, still.) of 25 crawling into the back of a truck to lie down and snooze while everyone else continued laughing and eating in the restaurant. I was too tired to contemplate the implications of this momentous event, but I can now tell you just how horrifying it is for me.

When I finally roused from my slumber, I realized it was ten o'clock. TEN. I slept away the entire meal and missed out on the laughs. (and they are a fun group of people, lots of laughter to be had!) A surprising kick in the gut when I realize no one has come to check on me, either. I climbed out of the back of the truck, grabbed the keys, and made my way for the restaurant when I see they're all in the parking lot visiting and laughing. Approaching like a spurned dog reaching for scraps, I was asked repeatedly how I was feeling.

I am the youngest in that crowd, 8 years younger than my husband and at least 20 for everyone else because the women could all be my mom-yet, I am the party pooper. I slept while they had a good time. Or, rather, they had a great evening despite the ommission of my presence. Lovely. I am 25 and already washed up.

Someone grab the gun, this horse has gone lame.