To look at me tonight, you would think I’m ready to rock – big time. I’m sporting a sequin evening suit liberated from its longtime plastic prison, a crisp silk blouse I actually ironed, high shoes (!) and a half-arsed semblance of make-up. Yep, it’s time to step out and paaaarty! Only … kill me.

I have become a homebody and am deliriously happy to be one.Credit: ISTOCK

Instead of excitement, my overall emotion is anxiety. I don’t want to do this. Well, not right now anyway. But I’ve committed. I will be letting down people I love if I don’t go out. I am trapped. Gulp!

Once again, I look at my snug lounge, my dozing dog Roxy sprawled on it, and note the remnants of a good red and crumbly cheese calling from the kitchen. I glance at the TV remote, the key to unlocking so many options for an evening that doesn’t entail me having to stand on stilts, make small talk or wear a bra. Help!

I call my friend who understands my angst. “Let me guess,” she says before I utter a word. “You have to go out tonight and you are suddenly........

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