“You’re just a misanthrope,” he continued. “So it’s really not your fault.” He laughed

IT had been one of those days. One of those days when just making it to my own bedtime without saying or doing anything I’d regret would be an accomplishment. Between my toddler’s disrupted night and my own early morning, I felt overwhelmingly irritable and frustrated.

It was late evening when I hung up the phone after a conversation with a friend.

“She keeps wanting to get together,” I said to my husband, somehow annoyed. I saw the familiar look of mild amusement flit across his face, and I was reminded once again of how different we are. He loves people and I… well, I’m somewhat hesitant around those same lovely people.

But this time he nodded. “It’s not your fault that you feel that way,” he responded. I looked at him again, surprised. This wasn’t the usual upbeat response from my extroverted, albeit quiet and thoughtful husband. He usually tried to convince me that getting together with “friendlies” is what turns them into “friends” and would wonder why I was constantly resisting.

“You’re just a misanthrope,” he continued. “So it’s really not your fault.” He laughed.