Friday, July 21, 2006

Really, I'm not high maintenance...

It has come to my attention that my self-proclaimed 'adorable quirks' are actually a manifestation of my ridiculously spoiled upbringing according to one Ms. Ah-bby who accompanied myself, The Christitute and Angela to Calgary for the Stampede a couple of weeks ago.

I'll admit it, I'm an only child, but you know what, I don't really think I was spoiled - by my parents at least; aunts, uncles and various other relatives don't really count because that's kind one of the perks of the job.

This all started on the Saturday morning before the pubcrawl, because there were 4 girls that needed to shower, and one bathroom in which to do it in. Because we're not like sorority girls in the movies, we all opted to take separate showers, and thus arises the first somewhat prissy move on my part.

I can't shower in a damp shower, the shower itself needs to be bone-dry before I'll even set foot in there, unless it's a dire emergency (I'm thinking like a "I need to neutralize some sort of acid on my skin"-type scenario here). It totally creeps me out, and I've always had an aversion to excessive moisture. To this day, I don't even like walking outside after it has rained, until it is dry.

I think originally, TC was supposed to shower first but she was a smidge hungover and over-tired so she kinda slept in, read: fell back asleep in her towel.

I eventually exit the shower and let Ah-bby know it's free, and proceed to check my email in just a towel.

"Do you want me to leave or something?" she asked quietly, obviously discomfitted a bit by her extreme proximity to my towel-clad self.

"Uh, no" I cautiously replied "Don't take this the wrong way, but I can't towel dry myself off either. I prefer to air-dry" I said in all seriousness.

"Uh huh" came her incredulous reply "Right"

"I'm not a priss" I exclaimed in what was probably my mostwhiny/needy voice ever.

Fast forward to breakfast, which TC's mom was kind enough to prepare for us so that we could prepare for the all-day drinking extravaganza that lay ahead of us.

TC's mom had made blueberry pancakes, breakfast sausages, eggs, and something else I think but I just grabbed a handful of blueberries, some sausages, and some eggs because I'm not very fond of pancakes (I'll eat them every once in a while, but they're not my favourite).

She kinda of looked at my plate and asked if I wanted something else, I told her I was fine, she offered a bagel, and I declined.

The TC pipes up from the backyard "Mom, [Gingerbread] only eats Montreal-style bagels" (which is very true, but it's no biggie, I really just wasn't in the mood for bread, and I really didn't need anymore prissy chips stacked against me - plus a bagel is your whole daily recommended intake of grains)

"What about toast" she prodded.

"Uh, ok. Do you have brown?" As I thought to myself "This definitely isn't helping my case any..."

I then lightly toasted my toast, because I prefer the bread to be lightly browned, and bit off all the crusts, but only because I eat them last for some reason...

...but now that I've tallied it up myself, I'm beginning to think that Ms. Ah-bby was right, although I'd describe myself as very particular. I don't expect people to do things for me in certain ways, I'm more than comfortable doing it myself. I don't usually pitch a fit if something's not exactly to my tastes either, I just like certain things done my way.

And I don't think I should have to change that, so there!

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