Highly unlikely, seeing as no one from my ward knows my name.
It's hard to make new friends.
Our ward is huge, has tons of new people moving in, and is very active. Everyone is nice, but ... comfortable, you know? They don't know that they are in dire need of a new friend. ME, for example.
But hey! I'm Brazilian! (Sort of.) And being Brazilian means being friendly, dang it, and perhaps just a little pushy. We can't help it.
We woke up with the goal of inviting someone to dinner before we left church this morning. Nevermind that we don't have any furniture (our shipment still has another month.) We were going to make friends if it killed us. Plus we had three racks of barbecue ribs in the fridge.
Right off the bat our children made friends with the couple behind us in Sacrament meeting, by repeatedly dropping things in their row. So good of them - perfect excuse for an introduction. We learned that the couple was new, also, and the guy not only has a killer voice, but has his own studio as well. (Hmmmm ... Little Prince may be taking piano lessons soon.)
But they were having dinner at his parent's house tonight. Bummer.
On to the next couple ... also busy. Bummer.
I struck out twice, so passed the buck to My Man. He cornered someone after priesthood who ... was also busy tonight. DUDE.
We arrived back home thoroughly discouraged. BUT WE WERE NOT TO BE BEATEN! My Man called up a good friend of ours that lives nearby-ish, but ... strike four. (Nevermind that they had the perfectly valid excuse of their third child's C-section this week, and are in the full throes of preparation.)
Cookies! Cookies are a good introduction tool, yes?!
After naps and a dinner with way too much food, a large batch of chocolate chip delectables were made with much love. Pretty plate found. Napkins stacked, shoes on.
Our bishop lives a stone's throw away; we knocked on his door with relish. And? No one home. Strike five.
But hey! The ward mission leader is only two doors down. Knock knock ... someone home! A boy of twelve opened the door, half smiled ... and walked away.
Not an invitation, but I'll take it.
We spent an hour with them, totally interrupting their family game night, with my children eating half their cookies, whining for milk, wiping chocolate on their walls, and polished it off with Mr. Squishy throwing up on their beautiful wood floor.
I think next Sunday I'll stick to hermit-hood.