I suppose it's the writer in me that always wants to be left alone, sometimes to my detriment. But for the most part (probably around 95% of the time), I don't mind being left alone. I get more accomplished. I can think more clearly. To me, there is nothing worse than being at a party and having to make small talk with people you don't know (and honestly wouldn't care to know). Or pretending to be interested in someone's kids when you don't have kids yourself and have no idea how to deal with kids if you did have them.

Long after the sun had gone dim and the plants grew small and unnourishing there came a craft from space.

This craft was full of seeds which grew quickly when planted. The fruit of this seed was large and through no one knew who had sent this plant and thought the fruit was bitter, the people were hungry and ate it ravenously.

Though filling, the fruit gave no nourishment and the people continued to starve, without realizing that they were starving.

Above them, in another craft, people watched, discouraged. They were the seed senders, and they had hoped for more.

Her friend turns out of course to be a doe (a deer, a female deer.) The joker within me wants to politely point out that I prefer my ovaries externally mounted, but that reference would be lost (then found) on this crowd and not, unfortunately to my advantage. The mouse within admits that at the end of the day, it’s a pay cheque I need with a small side of self-respect and security. For this I eat crow and keep silent, whatever the cost to my self-esteem. Side orders have never seemed to me to be that easy to plate.