Leap of Faith

I'm terrible at parties. Lots of people say that, but in my case it's an understatement. I never know when to break off a conversation or when to approach someone. I usually retreat to a chair and eat.
Recently I attended a party full of writers. You'd think I'd be relaxed. Well, I walked in with my bottle of diet root beer, gazed at a table full of goodies and immediately felt guilty and cheap. I should have brought an entire pizza.
Immediately, a tall woman greeted me. She wore a pencil skirt, was unusually soft spoken for such a towering woman, but still intimidated me. I barely complimented her on her dress, then went blank. Damn. I filled up a plate and skulked to the back of the room. Another nightmarish night.
Then a strange thing happened. I pulled myself together and somehow established communication with about six fellow writers, nodding at the right time and holding my own. I even felt they were listening to my points. One poor fellow had gotten burnt out of his apartment and needed underwear.
I had taken a leap of faith by coming and felt God was looking after me. Or maybe it was the tuna sandwiches that loosened me up. Some cultures worship finger food.
I wound up staying an hour and five minutes, excellent time for me. I just wish I could  think of something clever next time a tall, attractive woman greets me. Maybe a comment on the dip.