A party invitation excuse: Sorry, I can’t come. I’m so depressed. My brother’s friend’s mother’s sister’s dog died.
If one wants to hear me talk, just ask me about my electronic gadget collection.
Meltdowns happen in various places and situations. Sometimes after standing in a long line at the only one of twelve counters open.
Although hating my hair cut, I tell the hairdresser it looks great and gives a tip.
I’m on the hunt in the store for an item I can’t find. I pass by store elves stocking the shelves without asking any of them “what aisle is the …. on?” If I find it, I pat myself on the back. If I don’t, better luck at the next store.
I was a mature child for my age; I am an immature adult for my age.
I talk to myself. I fidget with my fidget cube and spinner. I run into things. I scratch myself. I talk too loud sometimes. I don’t dress up. I could live on eating starches only. I am who I am.