Isaac/Ainsley: Paint By Numbers

Early November...

The other night, I went to a bar a few miles down the road and attended a paint and sip event.

I know, a paint and sip? Only some kind of freakish deviant would ever bother setting foot within fifty feet of one, let alone spending genuine hard-earned money to participate. I might as well have trashed Ainsley's reputation the instant I walked into the building. When she gets word, Ainsley's going to wonder what other horrible things I'm going to do with her life. Couldn't I just stay in a tiny room staring at a wall full of plants like an actual normal person? In her darkest moments she'll lie awake, unable to sleep with thoughts of me using her credit card to buy a p***leball paddle... Perish the thought!

Okay, seriously, going here is aggressively normal for someone like Ainsley. I don't know if she's ever done this before, and nobody at the bar seemed to recognize her, but it'd track. It's asocial weirdos, especially those who are single men, who'd need a convoluted excuse to go to these things. With that said, here's mine: Next week is when I'll be subsumed by a whirlwind of bridesmaid responsibilities. First the bridal shower, then the dress fitting, wedding rehearsal and actual wedding ceremony and reception, all in the span of a couple weeks. I've managed to leverage Ainsley's recent breakup to get myself out of a lot, and I can tell it's hurting her friends, but Ainsley insists on this one. I have to show up. I'm going to have to be Ainsley around people who know her a lot better than her coworkers (many of whom know her fairly well!) and, on the wedding weekend, do it without any breaks.

So I wanted to do something easier, in preparation. I felt like if I could prove to myself that I'm able to go to a social, predominantly female space for a couple of hours, without setting off too many red flags, then at least I could focus on how I don't know the bride or any of Ainsley's friends rather than the fact that I'm not really a hypersocial former sorority sister. Does that make sense?

So I went, arriving a couple minutes late. (I hate being the first person to show up to things, it just attracts attention.) I wore a tank top, jeans, loose cardigan, and Ainsley's gold initials monogram necklace of the kind I've always found annoyingly tacky. It was a good mix of women ranging from Ainsley's age to their mid-fifties, a handful of boyfriends or husbands, and one obviously single guy who, fortunately, didn't seem to latch on to me in particular. They handed us a wine list and I copied the order of a girl a few seats down from me without knowing what it was.

With the sip taken care of, the paint aspect was actually very simple. Turns out these sessions are essentially paint-by-numbers for adults. Or an in-person Bob Ross episode, though Master Sergeant Ross' instructions are usually less specific and more technique-focused than the artist in charge here. I had a handful of emotionally neutral accidents.

Of course, I still had to navigate the inevitable small talk. Going in I was nervous that everyone would look at me and immediately know I'm some kind of fraud, even though none of them have ever met Ainsley before and therefore have no expectations. And I sort of am one, even without getting the Inn involved. I really don't think I fit in with the type of crowd these events get; even if Ainsley's appearance gives the impression that I would. I know I come across as cold to people, Ainsley's coworkers can clearly tell the difference and keep asking me if I'm doing okay. I really believe the way my thought process works, the way I relate to others is different from that of most of the people around me. Not better, just, different. In my own body the way I look and carry myself signifies that immediately, while being Ainsley makes me create a lot of mixed signals. Sets everyone else there up for disappointment once they get some impression of what I'm really like.

But it turned out I didn't need to disappoint anyone; focusing intensely on painting was enough to dissuade a lot of potential small-talkers. Or maybe it's not just marketers who can smell fear. And when I did get questioned beyond the standard name/job/how-long-have-you-been-in-town icebreakers I'd pull what I assume is a very Ainsley move and show off some dog pics. Shoutout to SugarBunny for helping me get out of awkward conversations, for once. I don't know if I'm able to effectively act enthusiasm but nobody seemed bothered, far as I could tell.

Honestly, it was all easy enough that I questioned whether coming there really helped me prepare for anything. Living someone else's life doesn't come with convenient instructions and constant guidance! Well, it does, Ainsley's given me some, but it's impossible to write instructions granular enough to allow one to run on autopilot through any given situation without letting it slip that something's up. And Ainsley's too busy juggling a toddler and a demanding job to give me anything even close to that. (Marvin, the guy in my body, hasn't asked for very much help especially recently and though my own life isn't very complicated I'm starting to get kind of nervous.) I don't get flowcharts for conversations with everyone Ainsley knows. There's no guide for how to force yourself to act (or be) genuinely excited, not really. But this? Painting by numbers, having my every move prescribed, is a relaxing vacation in comparison.