It’s my baby sister’s fault.
She got me into this just like she got me into all kinds of stuff when she was a teenager and I should’ve known better. Of course, “baby” is a relative term, given that she’s past the half-century mark. But, I am definitely older and there’s another sister in between so I guess baby still applies.
Who’d a thunk it?
I don’t even like to talk.
If left alone, I can go for days without speaking. Unless one of the cats gets under foot and then I say things my Mom would be ashamed of me for saying. She washed my mouth out with soap when I was nine — but it didn’t take. It did, though, take me about forty years muster up enough nerve to buy a bar of Dove soap. I wouldn’t have even then except that my daughter spent about six months trying to convince me that it was really good for keeping your skin soft, and it does, so now I’m a convert and don’t get antsy in the shower at all. (No, they’re not paying me to say that and let’s just leave Norman Bates out of this discussion.)
Back to topic …
Given the choice between a room full of people and a good book, I’ll take the book every time. Not that I’m particularly anti-social. It’s just that I like to read — a lot. And, I’ll read almost anything but more about that some other time.
I read a magazine article once about how there are two kinds of people. For some, other people give them energy. For the rest, other people suck the life right out of us.
Now, don’t start thinking I hate people. I don’t. Not really. I mean, I wouldn’t want to go live in a cabin in the woods or anything. In fact, I don’t even like visiting out in the country except in cold weather, but that’s another story. I like the burbs (great movie, by the way) and being around people. I just don’t like to talk a lot. I’m shy. Kinda, sorta.
Enough of this for now. It’s getting late, I’m sleepy, and I have to work tomorrow.