I am an introvert. I like peace and quiet and a lot of it. I don't take pleasure in parties and social gatherings. I find things like that an uncomfortable bore. I enjoy being by myself but if I want company I have a few good friends that I can drop around and see. I just don't see the need to constantly be surrounded by people.
This desire for peace and quiet doesn't mean that I dislike extroverts. I quite understand that some people are real people centric, wanting lots of company. There are, of course, different degrees on being an extrovert. Some just seem overly friendly (from my point of view) while some come across as loud, obnoxious, boors. Again, from my point of view. They're probably quite popular amongst their friends and they probably have more friends than me. They just tend to rub me the wrong way, so I politely make excuses and fade from the scene.
I had the misfortune to have a super extrovert move in to the same block of units as myself. I first realised my problem when he and his wife came knocking on my door. Somehow or other the pair of them talked their way inside and I had to have some coffee with them while they told me their life story. This was their way of getting acquainted with their new neighbours.
Charles, call me Chuck, was one of those in-your-face, glad-handing, baby-smooching, types with a never ending flow of talk. Not that he ever said anything interesting, but he did love the sound of his own voice. He'll probably go into politics and be a sensation, while I vote for his opponent on principle.
His wife, Margaret (call her Meg), was also an extrovert. Not quite as in-your-face as Chuck, but not far behind. She also loved to talk. When he wasn't talking, she was, and often both of them were chattering at the same time, usually on different subjects and neither saying anything.
I will say this; they were a handsome couple. He must have been pushing thirty but he was quite fit. He played a lot of squash and considered himself to be a champion. One of the interesting little facts that he dropped during his chatter. He'd have to get me down to the courts some day and give me a game. Certainly. Just as soon as I've had my feet amputated.
Margaret was somewhat younger than Chuck, about twenty-five if I'm any judge. She was also quite fit (squash again) and, in my opinion, quite a beauty. She was slender with nice hips, a very nice bottom, and cute perky breasts. They weren't the oversized udders that some find attractive, but a nice B cup, possibly edging onto a C.
I finally managed to edge them out of the house and they headed off to seize their next victim. I breathed a sigh of relief and gave serious consideration to putting up a large fence to keep them out.
You can imagine my disgust when Chuck took a real liking to me. A nice quiet gentleman, he considered me. Someone who really listens when you talk. Translated, I guess that meant I didn't keep on interrupting him to put across my point of view, apparently taking his every utterance as gospel. The more I saw of him the more I saw him as a menace and took steps to avoid him.
After he'd been in his unit a month Chuck decided to hold a big get-acquainted party, inviting all the neighbours so that we could all get to know each other. It'd be a blast, he reckoned. It'd be a blasted headache, I reckoned.
I didn't go. Wild horses wouldn't get me to that sort of do. I stayed firmly at home, trusting that Chuck wouldn't notice me missing in the crowd and, if he did, he'd be too busy glad-handing everyone to do anything about it.
I missed, two out of two. Chuck noticed my absence and he found time to do something about it. He sent Margaret over to fetch me.
She fronted up at my door in her party dress. High hem line showing of a pair of very nice legs, shoulders free with a low neck line that managed to display some very nice cleavage.
"Hi, Mike," she said as soon as I answered the door. "Chuck sent me to see what was keeping you."
"Ah, I won't be able to make it I'm afraid," I said apologetically. "I have a slight medical condition that really makes it wiser not to go."
She was so sorry, wanting to know if she could do anything to help. Exactly what was the problem she wanted to know? I was really going to have to look up a few interesting medical conditions for future reference. As it was I fell back on the simplest.
"It's a nervous complaint," I explained. "It hits me every so often. I'm very much afraid that if I went over to the party I'd have a panic attack. That would just be too embarrassing. I'll just stay home quietly."
Tell me, how do extroverts manage to get into your house? I could have sworn I didn't invite Margaret in, but she was there, all sympathy and bracing advice. I shouldn't give in to nerves, I should face that which frightens me and overcome it. Really, it was essential that I come along to the party. I'd find that I'd enjoy it once I was there and it would let me get acquainted with everyone.
Like, who wanted to get acquainted with everyone? I knew my neighbours by sight and by name. Knew them well enough to lend and borrow tools and things and give a helping hand if required. I didn't need any more than that.
"Margaret," I said, speaking slowly and carefully so she'd get the message. "I am an introvert. I like solitude or company in small doses. One on one is preferable. A party such as the one Chuck is currently holding in anathema to me. It is the sort of thing that makes me want to run away screaming. If I did go I doubt that I'd stay more than five minutes, just long enough to be seen, and then I'd be gone again. And quite frankly, I'm not in the mood to go and waste that five minutes.
As for getting to know my neighbours, I already know them and they know me. Again, speaking frankly, the only neighbour I'd want to get further acquainted with is you, and I wouldn't want to waste that acquaintance talking.
Do you know that you have lovely breasts and that I want to see more of them?"
Margaret looked at me, seeming slightly stunned.
"You don't like parties?"
I bowed my head in gracious assent.
"But everyone likes a party," she said, unable to get her head around the idea.
"No, they don't," I told her. "Some go because they like them, others go because they feel they should and some go because they hope to get laid. Me, I just don't like them and I don't go to them."
"Well, what do you do instead of going to parties?"
"I have other interests. I read. I play chess, both at a chess club and online. And I sometimes take women out on dates. I do have a number of friends, including women in that number. I'm not lonely."
"Oh. So I'll just tell Chuck you're sick."
"That might be best. I don't think he could understand my not wanting to come."
I initially thought that Margaret hadn't really listened to what I'd said. It turned out that she was just a little slow to catch on. I could see her running over my arguments, nodding to herself that Chuck just wouldn't understand what I was saying. The words would have been meaningless to him. Then she blushed and slapped a hand over her cleavage.
"I said more, not less," I told her, reaching up and removing her hand. "But don't let it worry you. It's not as though I'm going to tug your cleavage to the side and expose your breast."
I paused there, giving her a considering look.
"Actually, now that I say that, it sounds like a fine idea."
