She plops down beside me; I inwardly groan. Once again, she makes the unwise decision of starting a conversation when I am busy.
"Are you busy?"
I look sideways at her, raise an eyebrow, and continue writing, hoping the answer will be evident.
She stares at me expectantly and blinks.
Apparently not evident, then.
She abruptly decides my answer is taking too long to arrive, and continues anyway. "Do you like my hair?"
Not once do I take my eyes off my pencil, but I nod once curtly in a futile attempt to satisfy her vanity.
She frowns and tilts her head to the side. "Why do you never talk?"
My pencil stops moving on the sheet of paper. She is making me very cross.
"Are you shy?" she offers hopefully.
I place my pencil down and turn to face her. "Why do you never shut up?"
She gasps in an offended manner (causing a twisted sort of amusement to slice through me), and it appears to be effective, because she tosses her hair and leaves in a huff.
I mentally file my question away for future use.
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