You Know Who You Are

Friday night I organized an evening at the baseball stadium with friends. Go see the Bees play, eat a hot dog, enjoy the warm spring evening. As it was, I bailed on my own outing. First off, turns out nobody likes to do things I organize. The only person who agreed to go was my roommate, Erin. That was fine. We decided to stop in at Pine Needles at Gardner Village (a brilliant fabric store you will quickly fall in love with if you go) for their Fat Quarters sale. This led me to purchase 12 fat quarters and the pattern to a lovely quilt I'm going to make this summer. Our shopping at Pine Needles made us run a little late. And then we realized we were dressed similarly (tshirts, plaid shorts and brown sandals)...and we quickly concluded a Girls Only Date Night to a sporting event in matching outfits was either too butch or too weird (take your pick) and we'd best do something else with our Friday evening. I read a book, ate some food and hated on my computer a bit before turning in.

BUT WAIT!!

The story doesn't end there. Via the lovely social network I like to call "Facebook," I discovered a plethora of friends and acquaintances who did, in fact, attend the Bees Game on Friday. They watched the game, probably ate hot dogs and enjoyed the warm spring evening...while I didn't. Considering this is a family "show," I'll try to keep this clean but WTF?!!! Okay, so not entirely clean but that's pretty much what I'm shoutin'. Had I known y'all were going to the game, I would have been there. Text messaging is well loved because it is quick and easy to use, right? So is it too much to ask that you hit the reply button and say, "Cool! A bunch of us are already planning on going so we'll see you there." Really? Too much to ask, World of Friends? You people suck.

Before any of you sweet readers try to point out the obvious, I am well aware the other possible answer is that the people in question really didn't want me to join them at the baseball game. Perhaps they purposely chose not to reply and secretly hoped I wouldn't show up. If this is the case, I bite my thumb at you. And I hope you got a kick out of it because yes--I feel properly rejected and hated upon.

And I still want a hot dog. Real bad.