My father left me alone this weekend. Again. Although this time I didn’t get his fancy car, just my lovely little Volkswagon Beetle that makes a plethora of terrifying noises and really doesn’t like chilling in first gear in Newport traffic.
I’m also working both Saturday and Sunday at The Shack, which means the poor kitties will be sad and lonely all day.
This is what happens to the cats when they are alone all day.
There is something truly wonderful about this weekend though (not that I don’t love working) and that is rosé.
I am an introvert. I enjoy being an introvert. I like to sit next to my cat and write about food. I also like to sit next to my cat and read books. Or watch Arrested Development. Anything really, as long as its just me and my cat.
He’s into the sound of silence.
Being an introvert doesn’t mean I don’t like people. I love them and I have a small number of close friends that I cherish more than anything in the world besides Jethro. I’m quite happy to spend almost all of my time with them, because being with them, I don’t need to entertain. I can sit silently or be aggressively chatty or eat more cheese than any of them and it doesn’t matter.
But people I don’t know? That’s another story.