Moby in SuperCat mode.
I left my robe on my chair this morning.
Advantage was taken.
The one favor that cannot be requested, although probably not the only one, but the only one coming to mind at the moment, is "Will you be my friend?" The networking sites that send "friend" requests, and verb the noun, are doing more than playing with English. English loves to be manipulated, and although "befriend" seems to me a better word, I can't in good conscience object to gaming this rapacious and flexible language. It's the whiny pleading behind "friending" that evokes a kindergarden revulsion in me. The adding up, and counting how many friends, rather than the strength and depth of the friendship.
There was a little girl, you see. She walked the same way home, a bit further down the street from me. And she would call out to me "Will you be my friend? Will you be my friend?" And I wanted to run and hide. I had no other friends, but still was not so desperate as to want her. Instinctively, I drew back, since she didn't want to get to know me, she wanted me to like her. Rather like aunts who grabbed at me, or uncles who swung me up onto their knee without checking for my consent. I distrusted them afterward, and their urgent desire for my affection would be frustrated.
I've been reading Introvert Power, and although some of it is off base for me, I do need time alone. Especially after a lot of interaction. Time to think and digest. When there is no quiet place, I get unsettled. Grade school lunch time, after eating, we were required to go outside, whatever the weather. I would find a place to nestle, near a wall, away from all the noise. And be unmercifully teased. I let it go on behind me, because I needed to turn my head away. Shivering and miserable, but the world shut out, often with the help of a book, my only balm.
I've often been accused of being rude, because I don't appreciate intrusion and interruption.
There have been comments, which you probably have not seen, because I have simply deleted them, over the last few months. People who come to comment only to ask us to come to their site. Mostly not commercial phishing, but coat tuggers, wheedling for us to "come be my friend/read my blog." They are welcome to try again, leave a thoughtful note without a link (we can go to their site from their name, anyway.) If you have to ask, insist or force, then the answer is no. A yes would not be real friendship, after all.
Moby never begged for our love. He earned it, as we earned his.