I recently saw one of those corny fridge magnets that claimed, “I am not the person I was yesterday,” and I couldn’t agree more. I’d only like to make an addendum and have a personalized fridge magnet that reads, “I am not the person I was yesterday when I made those plans.” The majority of my time is spent either making plans I have no intention of upholding or desperately hoping the other person will cancel. I love my friends, but I hate plans. It’s as simple as that.
I wanted to enjoy a brat summer, go on dates, explore new places, and drink my weight in Aperol Spritz. But the truth is that I am a sloth, a girl sloth if you will. I do not want to leave my home. Forget Charli XCX. I am Charlie’s grandparents, who haven’t left their shared bed in years, and I watch him go to the chocolate factory. My vast expertise in this field has allowed me to construct the emotional stages of canceling plans and track this unique phenomenon for all my mindful, demure besties out there.
Stage 1: Optimism
This story starts with the making of plans. A simple beginning, one full of youthful optimism and hope. You believed that you were someone who would enjoy going to a club, being packed in with dozens of sweaty individuals who are too young to understand the pain of the original Bennifer breakup and the consequential Brangelina coupling. You can have fun!! You can go out until late. You can go to parties and make small talk that doesn’t revolve around your fear of dying and that your life is actually pointless. You can slut drop despite your aged knees. Maybe you’ll have a few cocktails and take a few pics for the ‘gram. Who knows?? The night is young, and bestie, you are young!!! You are optimistic that this time, you’ll truly enjoy yourself. You’re leaving your comfort zone and loving it; yeehaw!
Stage 2: Hope
When you realize said plans are coming up, there’s a brief period of hope. Not hope that you’ll suddenly feel up for it, but hope that perhaps the other person will cancel. You wait as long as possible to remind them about it or to ask what time you’ll meet, in the thinly veiled aspiration that they will forget, have double booked, or no longer feel up for it. It’s a delulu place to be, but aren’t the best places a little delulu?
As the clock ticks down to your forced social interaction, you pray to every god (including our Lord and Saviour, Miss Taylor Alison Swift) that they will cancel. You even prepared your response with the right mixture of empathy and disappointment, so it seems like you were still keen to see them. You want to come across as understanding, like you’re simply the bigger person, and confirm that you won’t hold this against them. In this false hope, you even start dreaming of what you’ll do with this newfound freedom, perhaps scrolling through Netflix for a show to binge or charging up your e-reader for another smutty Fae session.
Stage 3: Doubt
But as the clock ticks closer to when you’ll be rudely kicked out of your nest, fear settles in. It seems like perhaps they won’t be canceling your plans and allowing you to be the bigger person. Perhaps you’ll actually be expected to wash your hair and wear something other than sweatpants for the first time in a week. You’re not only doubting the upcoming plans but doubting whether you can do it. Do you have it in you to talk to a bunch of strangers? Do you have it in you to survive tequila shots with your withered, almost 30-year-old liver? Do you have it in you to pretend to laugh at Melissa’s jokes all evening and not admit to Beth that her boyfriend is just doing the bare minimum? I don’t know, bestie, I don’t know.
Stage 4: Determination
It’s okay to recognize your limitations. In fact, I’d even say it’s pretty emotionally aware of you. Like, hello, you’re a mature queen who knows what she is capable of and admits that dinner at Nobu followed by cocktails would bankrupt her both fiscally and socially.
You’re going to do it: You’re going to cancel your plans and be okay with it. They’re your friends; of course, they’ll understand. They love you and know you’d never lie — except right now, obviously, but they don’t know that. You’re going to cancel these plans and have a total girl dinner and fucking rot in bed. Ahhh, it’s going to be amazing!!! Start drafting that message, girlie pop, get it over with.
“Babe, I’m so sorry but I’ve come down with such a migraine, could we reschedule? Soooo sorry!!”
Stage 5: Paranoia
Oh my god, why haven’t they opened the message? Why haven’t they replied yet? Wait, have they always had the read notifications off? It’s time to reread the message you sent and analyze it more thoroughly than The Great Gatsby in English class. Now that you’re dissecting it, maybe it seems a bit insincere; maybe you laid it on a lil thick. There are many ways this could be read.
You’re thinking of all the ways you should’ve phrased it, the extreme excuses you could’ve whipped up. Okay, THEY REPLIED. Oh, they didn’t include any emojis; they definitely hate you. Oh, they hate you so much, oh no. Oh no, what if they’re telling everyone you’re a flake? What if no one invites you out ever again?
Stage 6: Self-hatred
Forget “The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived,” Taylor hadn’t met you yet. You are a piece of trash who cancels on your friends at the last minute. Yeah, you feel depressed, you have a migraine, blah blah blah. What if it’s all in your head? What if you’re just a terrible fucking person? You didn’t think of that, did you? Everyone definitely hates you, and they should. You always say you want to go out more, and here was the chance, and you canceled. Very impressive. Well done for being LAME. Teenage-version-of-you would be so disappointed right now.
Stage 7: Guilt
As soon as your evening has freed up, and you’re gazing out at unplanned hours ahead of you, a sense of guilt creeps up on you. Suddenly, your evening looks very empty, and you wonder if you have made the right decision. Were you perhaps a bit hasty in canceling your plans? Could you have pepped up with the right Y2K playlist and a White Claw? It would’ve been an opportunity to wear one of the many going-out tops that you collected in your early twenties and have barely touched since. You never really go out anymore, probably because you cancel plans whenever someone invites you anywhere.
Stage 8: Relief
But once you let go of the guilt, a profound sense of relief settles over you. It’s true, the dog days are over… you don’t have to force a bra over your tits or contour your double chin. You can exist in the limbo of your own apartment. No one expects you to shave or smell good. No one expects you to even talk out loud. You can walk around Winnie the Pooh style. Maybe you’ll catch up on some old-fashioned TV binging. This seems like an excellent time to start rewatching Gossip Girl. Maybe you’ll overheat your laptop with just a few hours playing The Sims. Who fucking knows? Breathe in, breathe out: the freedom of canceled plans.
Stage 9: Enlightenment
You have made it this far, and so, my young plan-canceling yogi, you have reached the stage of enlightenment. Ye have made peace with your decision, and so ye shall reap all the benefits of canceled plans. No longer are you a human being, but a sloth-like evolution of a person that gets to stay on their couch the entire evening. No one hates you, no one even thinks about you, and that’s how you want it to be. You can now recognize that your friend was probably praying you’d cancel first, so actually, you did them a favor. Reward yourself with DoorDash and a blood-thirsty true crime series, you empath. I’m so proud of you, bestie.
