Humiliation

My mom called this morning to tell me that I've been specifically not invited to my cousin's kid's wedding this summer. My mom is invited, and my kids are invited, but not me. I am kind of flabbergasted: clearly, I did something unforgivably awful the last time I saw them, which would have been at my uncle's memorial service. Huh. I don't remember getting drunk and dancing on the tables or anything like that - in fact, I thought I acquitted myself rather well, even though I did notice about halfway through the service that the slit in my skirt had decided to extend itself so that it was no longer exactly suitable for church, but I carefully put my kleenex clutching hand over it, which is an admittedly somewhat awkward posture but not one, you would think, that could offend anybody with a glimpse of decorously black tights clad thigh. I must have done or said something, though. God, and apparently my cousin, only knows. Oh well. As it stands I only see my cousins about once every three years for an hour or so, so it isn't as if I'd ticked off my best friend. Still, I'm curious in a trainwreck sort of way: what DID I do? How bad was it? I've racked my brain and I really can't come up with anything, so presumably it's a sin of omission. What didn't I do?

I hate offending people and I would never want to upset my cousins or, in fact, anyone, but I guess, in the humiliation sweepstakes, it's better to be offensive than ignored, since I'm being completely ignored on the online (free) dating service I signed up for in a fit of boredom and melancholy around 2 am the other day and that's bothering me much more than the news that I won't be attending a wedding that I had honestly forgotten was ever taking place anyway. I mean, three or four days my (if I do say so myself) witty and charming profile has been up and nothing. Not an email, not even an email from one of those weirdo Neanderthals who usually contact every single female on the dating sites - the ones that read like this: "Hey u r prtey I liv in the contry with my mama and we r good fok do u want to git married cuz I got to go to jail soon baby but u wuld keep me good an warm hunny first " or this: "We are russian brothers new to america love american women baby baby come to shoot guns with us we love to have fun with hot american girl like you." No. Not even the troglodytes or the Russian mobsters want me this go round. I haven't even gotten one wink, whatever the hell a wink is. I'm kind of glad about that though, since wink is such a creepy term anyway; it just summons up visions of one of those aforementioned Russians leering sideways from a barstool and wrenching half of his face up into a kind of demented gargoylian grimace. Flattering. So flattering, those.

And then, in a fit of emotional inner strength, I actually called up about getting therapy. The initial phone call went very well and the nice receptionist said that the therapist himself would soon call me back for details and to set up an appointment. He hasn't. Story of my life: not crazy enough for therapy, not sane enough for daily life. To top it all off, there's another dead gerbil in the backyard. Sheesh.