A miserable couple of hours

This afternoon saw another one of my in-law's BBQ cum family gatherings. I had been secretly dreading it but what made it worse this time was the fact that my wife took my son to a Birthday party nearby, leaving me on my own for two hours. I've remarked previously about my difficulty with social gatherings - even family - but my darling wife forgot this and cited our lack of funds for not letting me stay at home and collect me when the party ended. 'You'll be fine', exclaimed my wife. 'You know everyone there'. It makes no difference if I know the people or not. It doesn't help that two of the people there (a couple I call the Bungy's), actually come from Bungay in Suffolk and are pleasant enough but they are also the most quite, the most boring people I've ever met. They don't even talk to themselves much of the time. So there I was having to endure two whole hours in near silence, hoping, praying that something would happen. It didn't. Instead, we found as much interest as we could in the weather, staring out of the conservatory at my father-in-law as he struggled to get the BBQ going. At one point the sun emerged from behind some heavy clouds and that gave way to about thirty seconds of mutterings, followed again by silence and the odd grunt.
The whole experience was excruciatingly painful - and my wife knows it. Worse of all is the fact that she hates me for it. She won't talk to me as she knows I wasn't looking forward to the event - and didn't enjoy it. OK, I admit it was a relief to see them arrive straight from the party at 2 pm, my son clutching a motorbike fashioned with balloons, but I soon found myself alone again with little or nothing to talk about feeling as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit.
It felt like an eternity until I heard the muffled sounds of 'time to go home' and 'say goodbye'. Oh, what a relief, my agony and torment would soon be over. I could get back to the company of my computer, the Internet and my safe haven I call Home.
The drive back was silent. No a word was muttered and my wife looked the other way the whole six or seven miles back to our house. I knew I was in the wrong - I always am - my social ineptitude and inability to make small talk goes completely against my wife's sense of family duty. To her, I'm not normal and I suspect this is the sentiment throughout the rest of the family. The thing is, for someone who's had a breakdown - a breakdown that nearly finished them off, nothing really is normal ever again. I know it's my fault and I accept that. Everyone tries to be as nice as they can, but deep down I know they are doing it because they feel they have to. You make the most of it, you force yourself but most of the time, you just want a little understanding.