06-08-2018, 09:32 PM
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ginny could count on one hand how many parties she'd been to, excluding the very formal events like weddings and engagement parties, as well as birthday parties and work functions — the latter two of which she'd attended plenty of in her brief few years as a teacher. one in high school, two in college (though she'd left one after five minutes), another one in her own apartment by an old roommate, but she'd locked herself in her room for the whole thing. it wasn't that she was antisocial, but that parties weren't really her scene. she was more of the cheap-cineplex-with-popcorn type, or contemplating-genocide-of-children-at-a-bar type. there was something sort of warm and home grown about her, like the kind of girl your brought to meet your mother, the kind of woman you married. she wasn't someone you expected to be at parties.
but, after much debate, ginny figured it probably wasn't a party. and if it was, she could introduce herself, raid the snacks, then make a graceful irish exit. the invitation was lovely, and she wasn't really sure how to match it. eventually, she'd deduced on carefully brushing the grown-out bob of blonde curls, slabbing her best attempt at makeup on (read: mascara and some clear lip gloss), and digging through the half-unpacked boxes of clothes. twenty minutes later, she'd settled on a pair of light-wash mom jeans — the ones she'd bought back in college and still had because they made her butt look fantastic — and a fitted white sweater that hugged her figure in the way that you just might think she was the pope child who could actually attract people. another five minutes was spent on shoes, unsure if sensible flats was the way to go, or the pair of white kitten heels she hadn't broken in yet. she settled on the heels in the end.
if asked, she'd blame traffic as the reason she was late, not her indecisiveness towards her closet. but she wasn't really that late, and she didn't see much of a reason as to why anyone would ask why she was late. but this was ginny, and ginny wasn't always terribly logical when it came to social anxieties. she'd spend the rest of her life with giddy children who spoke their mind over the complicated social rules that came with adults. as she entered the home, she became aware of little things. was her posture stiff? was she walking weird? she knew she was probably fine, she was usually fine, but she hadn't met most of these people yet, and she wanted to make a good impression. that was what her mother always said when she was younger, before the world went to shit and nsync disbanded. first impressions are all that matter, sugar. god, she missed her mother's sweet southern lilt, thick like honey on a hot summer day.
people were gathering about, introducing themselves, and without thinking twice, ginny plastered on the sweetest smile she had slipped on over, and let honey-brown eyes dance from face to face, taking them all in, before offering a hand to shake to— no one. this wasn't formal, she needed to relax. she let her hand drop to her side, a twinge of modest embarrassment flashing on her features. "virginia pope. most people just call me ginny. i mean, some people." she said, to no one in particular, surveying the group, noting who was closer and further from her age, figuring her would be more interested in tolerating the antics of a twenty-nine year old than her elders might. [b]"pleased to meet you all."
ginny could count on one hand how many parties she'd been to, excluding the very formal events like weddings and engagement parties, as well as birthday parties and work functions — the latter two of which she'd attended plenty of in her brief few years as a teacher. one in high school, two in college (though she'd left one after five minutes), another one in her own apartment by an old roommate, but she'd locked herself in her room for the whole thing. it wasn't that she was antisocial, but that parties weren't really her scene. she was more of the cheap-cineplex-with-popcorn type, or contemplating-genocide-of-children-at-a-bar type. there was something sort of warm and home grown about her, like the kind of girl your brought to meet your mother, the kind of woman you married. she wasn't someone you expected to be at parties.
but, after much debate, ginny figured it probably wasn't a party. and if it was, she could introduce herself, raid the snacks, then make a graceful irish exit. the invitation was lovely, and she wasn't really sure how to match it. eventually, she'd deduced on carefully brushing the grown-out bob of blonde curls, slabbing her best attempt at makeup on (read: mascara and some clear lip gloss), and digging through the half-unpacked boxes of clothes. twenty minutes later, she'd settled on a pair of light-wash mom jeans — the ones she'd bought back in college and still had because they made her butt look fantastic — and a fitted white sweater that hugged her figure in the way that you just might think she was the pope child who could actually attract people. another five minutes was spent on shoes, unsure if sensible flats was the way to go, or the pair of white kitten heels she hadn't broken in yet. she settled on the heels in the end.
if asked, she'd blame traffic as the reason she was late, not her indecisiveness towards her closet. but she wasn't really that late, and she didn't see much of a reason as to why anyone would ask why she was late. but this was ginny, and ginny wasn't always terribly logical when it came to social anxieties. she'd spend the rest of her life with giddy children who spoke their mind over the complicated social rules that came with adults. as she entered the home, she became aware of little things. was her posture stiff? was she walking weird? she knew she was probably fine, she was usually fine, but she hadn't met most of these people yet, and she wanted to make a good impression. that was what her mother always said when she was younger, before the world went to shit and nsync disbanded. first impressions are all that matter, sugar. god, she missed her mother's sweet southern lilt, thick like honey on a hot summer day.
people were gathering about, introducing themselves, and without thinking twice, ginny plastered on the sweetest smile she had slipped on over, and let honey-brown eyes dance from face to face, taking them all in, before offering a hand to shake to— no one. this wasn't formal, she needed to relax. she let her hand drop to her side, a twinge of modest embarrassment flashing on her features. "virginia pope. most people just call me ginny. i mean, some people." she said, to no one in particular, surveying the group, noting who was closer and further from her age, figuring her would be more interested in tolerating the antics of a twenty-nine year old than her elders might. [b]"pleased to meet you all."