One Odd Sock

Okay, I’ve racked my brains for cleverness tonight and come up short. It’s Friday evening, so I decided to cut myself some slack. It just became a Daily Prompt night. Also, a night where I try to remember the idea for a novel I had – this is in the murder-mystery series.

(Note to self: writing stuff down is good. Right now, the details are sketchy, and by details I mean motive, arghh)

So, the prompt. I guess I don’t mind being around a group of people, though I’d certainly be on the quieter side of things – assuming I’m not wearing earphones to block out all the noise, because too much noise sets me completely on edge.

Public speaking isn’t a thing I do, either: I could maybe do it, but I’d feel vaguely awkward about it. No, make that a lot awkward. It’d make me feel all conspicuous and shy. I’m definitely not a performer-type; I’d feel all out-of-place, like mismatched socks, and that’s the sort of detail that would bug the everloving hell out of me. Given the choice, I’d prefer to hide in the bathroom than try giving a talk to a group.


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