Cancellation Elation

My Favorite Three Little Words: Something's Come Up

I’m going to put it out there: some of my favorite things in the world are cancelled plans. Not plans cancelled by me, but those cancelled on me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m no misanthrope. I like people, and adore my friends. I am genuinely excited when making plans to do things with them. In the majority of cases, I want these plans to go without a hitch. I hate cancelling on other people and pretty much never make up an excuse. First, I feel intensely guilty about letting people down, and second, I worry that, like Larry David in “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” I’ll get caught in my lie in a horribly humiliating way.

Plans cancelled by the other person are a different story. They are the social equivalent of an old-fashioned snow day. Even now, when my life revolves around laundry, walking the dog, and Googling whether it’s safe to eat certain foods past the expiration date, I love a cancellation.

It’s true. Even after I do all the prep, putting gas in the car and picking out a clean sweater, even as I am just about to head out the door, that last-minute text about a forgotten appointment or a check-engine light suddenly coming on appears on my phone and I am flooded with a mixture of elation and relief.

Does this make me a terrible person? I hope not. When I do go out as planned, I almost always have fun. But there’s something about being let off the hook while being begged forgiveness of that feels like a win-win. I get to play both martyr and hero.

I know; this admission certainly doesn’t put in me a good light, but I consider it a public service. All of you who feel relieved when I cancel our plans can feel free to keep your relief a happy secret, but just know you are not alone in occasionally hoping that, through no fault of your own, even the best-laid plans might get derailed, landing you on the couch watching Netflix in sweatpants.

I know. Heaven.