Can there be anything worse than this for the introvert? You have your flat. Your house. Your space. You move around it with the ease and happiness of a smug cat. You can do what you like here because it's yours. Sit in your pants watching wall to wall How I Met Your Mother whilst eating cookies? Done. Play the Target: Renegade until 3am. Done. Try that heady mix of Guinness and Bailey's in the same glass as you toast in St Patrick's Day by yourself or with the partner who you share your life with? Done. Then there is that knock at the door. You tense up as you walk towards it and your hand moves towards the door handle. You open it only to be confronted by...people. Paul from Accounts. Steve. Harold. That git from the cinema ('I don't even know him!'). People who want to come in. People who don't want to take their shoes off at the door. People who want to be entertained. People who want to sit and talk about 'feelings' and 'life' and stuff. No. No. No. Leave me alone. I'm not an entertainer. I'm an introvert. A happy, smiling, warm-centred introvert. It's just you can't see it. So bugger off and leave me to my Ted Moseby/Bruce Wayne/St Patrick's Day hangover. And close the door quietly when you leave. Like this list? Agree or disagree? Let us know in the comments section below.
