Don’t invite me anywhere in the last minute. I enjoy doing nothing, so I need to know ahead of time if my plan to do nothing needs to be changed.

If you’re looking for another bad decision, I’m here.

They said don’t try this at home, so I’m coming over to your place.

Can’t believe I didn’t get invited to that party I would have made up an excuse not to go to.

My curse was lifted. Do you want to hang out?

If you tell me to make myself at home, I’m going to ask you to leave.

Because it is Friday, I will allow one beautiful woman to invite me for drinks.

“Don’t let me keep you!” Translation: Please go.

Hey babe, wanna come over and fold me like a fitted sheet?

Apparently, responding to a wedding invitation with “maybe next time” is wrong. I know that now.

If anyone wants to watch the Super Bowl on a large 8k TV, come on over to my place (and bring a large 8k TV).

FOMO? No, I’ve got FOBI. Fear of being invited.

Don’t invite me places. I was cesarean. I didn’t want to come out then and I certainly don’t want to now.

People keep inviting me to stuff. I miss the pandemic.

The rule should be: if you can smell the cookout, you’re invited to the cookout.

I wasn’t planning on moving, but I was just invited to the neighborhood fall potluck, so I guess now I have no choice.