The 'come and knock on our door, we've been waiting for you' kind.
But that's what she did, anyway.
We've both lived here a number of years. I have nothing against her; she's neither the owner of the yippy dogs nor one of the people having sexy times, all the time, above me. She's sweet. But she was also after something.
Or so it felt. I'm nice, I swear, but I'm not that breed of nice.
She rang my doorbell at 9:55 PM. "Hi, I was just getting my laundry, I hadn't seen you in a while."
I step out, rather than invite her into the squalor. She asks, multiple times, what I'm doing this weekend. Um, I tell her my plans. They sound fake, but they're real, and I'm glad to have them. I ask if she's still living with the same roommates.
Apparently, they've moved out. She may be moving out. She's not sure.
"You should stop by for dinner sometime!" (This is her sweet, standard line.)
I don't know how to do that, and I'm not looking to learn. I'm certifiably shy - congenitally, from both sides of the family. I'm on the spectrum. Introvert with an I. I like meet-ups, and plans, and texts. I like clear start times, and even ending times.
That made me uneasy. I'm not looking to do anything about it. I don't feel the need to edify her. It's just... *sigh*.