The Invitation I Almost Declined

Some weekends unfold exactly as planned.

Others begin with one itinerary and end with an entirely different story.

When my husband and I headed into Toronto on Saturday, our plans were simple. We'd gotten tickets to see one of our favourite podcasts, Stuff You Should Know, being recorded live at Massey Hall. We were looking forward to an evening out with friends who live in the city before staying overnight with a friend I’ve known since first grade.

Sunday promised to be relaxing. We planned to linger over brunch, wander wherever the day took us, and perhaps soak up a little of the FIFA excitement if we happened to stumble across one of the watch parties while Canada played that afternoon.

Then, somewhere along Highway 401, my phone buzzed.

A friend had texted me a link to a CBC article about an invitation-only gathering for women named Janice. Drake was hosting what he called an apology party after his hit song Janice STFU thrust the name Janice into the spotlight, making it the subject of countless jokes and memes. Until that moment, I hadn't even heard the song—or realized there was anything to apologize for.

I'm certainly not a Drake listener, though like most Canadians, I knew exactly who he was. More importantly, I'm not someone who naturally gravitates toward parties—especially parties where I don't know a single person.

Still, something about the invitation felt too wonderfully unexpected to ignore. Or perhaps my son's favourite Yes Theory mantra—Seek Discomfort—had lodged somewhere in the back of my mind. If ever there was a low-risk opportunity to step outside my comfort zone, this was it.

I sent off my RSVP.

It appeared that if you could prove your first name was Janice and responded in time, there was a good chance you'd receive an invitation.

A few hours later, the confirmation email arrived.

I was in.

My husband couldn't believe I was actually considering attending.

My children were equally surprised.

My longtime friends were shocked.

Even the friend who had sent me the article couldn't believe I'd gone for it.

Apparently, I’d earned quite a reputation for avoiding exactly this sort of thing.

The next afternoon my husband walked with me to Cactus Club Cafe.

Joining that lineup by myself was intimidating. To make matters worse, I'd packed for a weekend of podcasts, brunch, and hanging out with old friends—not a stylish downtown Toronto gathering. In my Quince T-shirt and favourite black Lululemon pants, I  felt more than a little underdressed beside women who looked effortlessly polished.

I was reassured by the presence of my husband, who along with a few other spouses and partners, lingered nearby as we Janices cautiously began introducing ourselves to others in line.

The woman standing behind me asked where I'd come from. When I explained that we'd actually travelled to Toronto to see Stuff You Should Know, her eyes widened.

"Wait... Josh and Chuck are in town? I LOVE that podcast!"

Just like that, I exhaled.

Maybe I wasn't as out of place as I'd feared.

A selfie as we approached the entrance, with the men gradually fading into the background.

Before my husband headed off to do his own thing, he sent a selfie to our family group chat. In the foreground, he was grinning. In the background, an arrow pointed toward me as I walked into the restaurant with the women I'd just met.

His caption read:

"It's like the Kindergarten drop-off. She's not looking back at me anymore. I can leave."

He wasn’t wrong.

As the line began to move and our IDs and confirmation emails were checked, it became clear that not everyone who had made the trip would be able to get in. Many women had heard about the event on the radio and assumed that proving their first name was Janice would be enough. They hadn't realized they also needed a confirmation email.

Those of us whose invitations included a "plus one named Janice" immediately started looking for women we could bring in with us.

I offered to bring in the woman standing behind me in line. She had completed the RSVP process, but her confirmation looked different from most of ours, and she wasn't sure it would be accepted.

Then the organizers couldn't find my name on the guest list.

Her name, it turned out, was there all along.

Before long, she was walking me in as her plus one instead.

It was an amusing mix-up, but somehow it also captured the spirit of the afternoon. Before we'd even stepped inside, Janices were already looking after one another.

As we entered, each of us was handed a Peach Bellini.

We looked around at one another, still laughing at the wonderfully absurd situation we had somehow found ourselves in, and raised our glasses.

I don't usually drink alcohol. It's not because I'm opposed to it—it simply isn't something I particularly enjoy. I admitted as much to the younger woman sitting beside me.

"Oh," she smiled, pointing to the menu, "they have lots of zero-proof drinks."

It was such a small kindness, but it immediately made me feel at home.

Soon I was happily sipping a ginger mocktail. Bread, seafood, salads, steak, chicken, and desserts arrived family style, with far more food than any of us could finish.

Somewhere between the conversation and the shared meal, I realized I was actually enjoying myself. I'd already chatted with the women beside me in line. Now we were simply sharing lunch together. There were no awkward introductions. No names to remember. No games. Just conversation. The uneasiness I'd been carrying since I RSVP'd quietly disappeared.

A couple of hours later I realized something had been missing from the afternoon. I’d missed my daily tea time. Anyone who knows me won't find it surprising that I noticed this.

Although tea wasn't listed on the menu, I asked for it anyway. A few minutes later a server appeared carrying a silver teapot, a white china cup, and loose-leaf tea on a little tray.

I laughed and confessed to the women at my table that my family would find it hilariously appropriate that, with an open bar courtesy of Drake, I'd ordered afternoon tea.

Instead of teasing me, they immediately reached for their phones. "Let’s get pictures of this!"

It struck me then that nobody expected anyone else to fit a particular mold. They simply delighted in each person's quirks.

And somehow, in the middle of one of the most unexpected afternoons of my life, I realized I didn't have to be anyone other than myself.

There were funny moments all afternoon. Whenever someone called out "Janice!" dozens of heads instinctively turned. At one point the emcee began explaining the raffle. "I'll call a name..." She paused."...No—not your name! A number!" The room erupted in laughter. After all, every ticket belonged to someone with exactly the same name.

Ironically, the only time I felt nervous all afternoon came during the raffle itself. After the first few winners went up to collect envelopes filled with cash while over 150 Janices chanted, “Janice! Janice! Janice!”, I quietly hoped my number wouldn't be called. I was relieved when my ticket stayed safely tucked under my water glass.

Most of the women I met lived in the Greater Toronto Area, but one woman at my table had flown from Vancouver after seeing the invitation online. She decided it was the perfect excuse to finally visit Toronto. I loved that. What had started as an internet curiosity had become someone else's travel story.

Almost everyone admitted they had been nervous about arriving alone. Everyone had come anyway. 

In the end, it wasn't Drake who made the afternoon memorable. It was the Janices.

During the party, the organizers invited us to scan a QR code to join a group chat. Within minutes, photos and videos from every corner of the restaurant began  appearing.

Several days later, the conversation is still going. People are sharing favourite memories, expressing gratitude, joking that June 28 should officially become "Janice Day," and wondering whether we should meet again next year. Some have even floated the idea of travelling together or starting a book club.

We'll see.

A screen shot of the group chat the evening after the party. As someone noted, “This is the most hilarious group member list.”

When I met my husband outside after the party, he could tell I'd had a great time before I said a word.

"I'm so glad you went," he said.

So am I.