All over town, people are having dinner parties, and what am I doing? Deciding if my bath mat should go in the delicate cycle. Then, the other night, I was invited to a dinner party - I was thrilled. I barely knew the hostess but I didn't care.

I showed up at 7pm, half an hour late, the first one there. Already I was ready to go home. There were eight guests and it occurred to me that's seven more people than I enjoy talking to. As they arrived, drinks became the main event. It was a cocktail party with food at the end. Another reason to leave: I don't drink. One woman had just returned from London and she was upset about the weather she'd had. I decided the only thing worse than listening to someone talk about weather is listening to someone talk about weather that happened over a week ago in a city I wasn't in. When was dinner?

An hour and a half later, that's when. Being single, I was strategically placed between two "available" men: Dull and Duller. On my left, Dull created software and began every sentence with "To be honest with you," followed by something totally unrelated to this confession, like an aversion to Mexican food. Duller was a stockbroker. I swivelled to the left. The stockbroker made Mr Software sound like Salman Rushdie.

So now it's 10pm, I've been ready to leave for hours, and dinner begins.

"You're a vegetarian?" A shriek of horror from the hostess. The main course was coq au vin, which everyone eats except me. Not a problem, I say, and eat potatoes and bread. Every so often, from the lively end of the table, she shoots me an apologetic look and I reassure her I'm fine. Then I add some more butter to my plate of carbs and wonder how much longer I have to stay before I can leave without seeming rude. Empty dishes lingered. Then coffee. Didn't these people have jobs to get up for? Or were they deliberately keeping the conversation going to spite me? Whenever it seemed someone would call it a night, someone else would introduce a new topic that everyone just had to comment on. "What do you think of the ozone?" It was excruciating.

At half past midnight, Duller says it's time to go. I jump up. "I'll share a cab with you!" That's how desperate I was to leave. Outside, I tell him I'll get my own cab. "Don't be silly," he says. "I'll drop you off." I could tell he was bored with his life. What more could we possibly have to discuss? He asked if I could have one wish, what would it be? So I told him: silence. He didn't say much after that.

The next night, I felt good knowing I didn't have a dinner party to go to.

I had bills to pay and a bath to clean. From now on, I'll try to remember how much work it was to be a guest. That way, when I'm not asked to be one, I'll be relieved and happy. Okay, relieved.