The Book Nerd’s Guide to Avoiding Social Engagements

Welcome to the Book Nerd’s Guide to Life! Every other week, we convene in this safe place to discuss the unique challenges of life for people whose noses are always wedged in books.
Statistically speaking, the percentage of social engagements I’ve been invited to and the percentage of social engagements I’ve engaged in flimflammery to get out of are in a dead heat.
It’s an alarming ratio to anyone with a vested interest in the furtherance of the human race, but I suspect I’m not alone in this. The reason is simple: leaving my home is arduous and filled with uncertainty. First, I have to festoon my body in accoutrements (read: pants). Then I have to expend the mental and physical energy to traverse the distance to my destination. Once there, I must either find a place to park (I live in Austin, Texas, so good luck); chain my bike to an anti-theft, well-lit object; or disembark public transit, all the while wondering what that substance was on the seat cushion/floor/handrail/person in front of me. Finally, I enter the establishment I’ve been seeking and there are more people inside.
All for what? Bad house music and a cheap IPA. Instead, I could have been at home getting lost in a book, with a 1,000% assurance of a good time. I, for one, believe happiness and hermitage are not mutually exclusive terms.
Accordingly, I’ve become a master of the artful dodge, the expert deployment of excuses to wiggle out of invitations. You can’t just say you’re going home to read a book. Some people don’t respect that particular Don’t Disturb sign. To them, book-readin’ is a hobby, not a lifestyle.
All of the following are legitimate euphemisms I have used on such boisterous heathens—you might know them as “extroverts”—to gloss over the fact that I’m ditching them for some hefty tome:
“I have a friend in town.”
Translation: “I’m going home to read a new book until I finish it or die.”
“I’ve got a few errands to run.”
Translation: “I had to stop reading in the middle of a chapter last night and it’s eating away at the thin veneer of my soul.”
“I have to get up early tomorrow morning.”
Translation: “I’m going to read fanfiction about the book I just finished until I reach the triple digits of Archive of Our Own pages.”
“I have some…family drama to deal with.”
Translation: “The epic fantasy I threw at the wall two days ago is now out of its probationary period.”
“I’m just not feeling that well.”
Translation: “I prefer Eleanor and/or Park to your boyfriend’s roommate’s cousin’s ska band.”
What I’m trying to say here is that if you’ve invited me to something in the last decade, I’ve probably lied to you at least once or twice. It’s nothing personal. I’m sure your happy-hour mixer was a hoot. But did you know there are seven Harry Potter books? Five (and counting, gods’ willing) A Song of Ice and Fire books? Soon-to-be 24 volumes of The Walking Dead? Eight Outlander novels, all roughly the size of a shipping container? I have been busy.
Speaking of, don’t take this the wrong way, but we’ll have to continue this later. I need to walk the dog, and he’s 500 pages.
Maybe next time.
Translation: “I will learn more about the human experience from these rotating POV chapters than from your kickball team.”