Trying on clothes before I buy them? I don’t do it. Use public toilets? Only if I’m desperate. Listen to Feist? When hell freezes over.
I have been contemplating a things Fifi doesn’t like post for a while, and I am not sure if I should continue. I can get carried away with things like this – and I think that much negativity is bad for a person. It makes your boobs shrink.
Besides, I really don’t dislike trying on clothes, I’m just lazy. And that is why my closet has a ton of stuff that I never wear – I bought things that I discovered later looked terrible on me. For instance I always fall for shirts with puffy sleeves. In the immortal words of Nancy Kerrigan – why? I am a fairly small person, but I have really wide shoulders – I end up looking ridiculous. And I never take the clothes back, I just let them sit in my closet until I do a closet purge. But once I went shopping in the U.S. and told myself I couldn’t buy anything unless I tried it on. So I tried on EVERYTHING that I liked and ended up buying so much more than usual that I had to pay duty when I crossed back to Canada.
And public toilets. After having been to Paris, I know now that the typical Canadian public toilet is a miracle of cleanliness and comfort. But I still don’t like using them. Especially the ones in the mall where I work – they have the motion detector flushers, and the motion detecting taps and motion detector air hand dryers. The motion detectors on the toilets are a bit too sensitive, so you always get a little free bidet action (whew – that’s cold), and the taps aren’t sensitive enough. You have to shake your hands around the motion detector quite aggressively until you get water. Water that is always cold. So is the air dryer. But I will reiterate, that place is clean.
Something from my childhood that I hated? Chickens. Filthy, nasty cannibals. Don’t believe me? When I was eleven we moved to a farm. I envisioned myself as Laura Ingalls, and I embraced country living like a true pioneer girl – until I had to look after chickens. They pecked each other all the time – unless I was in the coop, and then they pecked me. Then one time I dropped an egg – you would have sworn they had won the chicken lottery. They all fought to eat their unborn young and I learned that for the price of one egg I could fill the feed and water thingy-doos in peace. Until one day there was only one egg. I held it high in the air, unsure of how to proceed -should I waste the only egg I collected? – and then the biggest asshole chicken in the coop jumped at my upraised hand and the delicious offspring it held. The terrifying former dinosaur missed and pecked my chin. I screamed, and in my terror I squeezed the egg. It broke, and those vile things went nuts on my right arm. The experience was so terrifying that I have blocked the rest of it out. It is probably too late for therapy. I get my revenge now by eating a lot of chicken. And eggs. The chickens were right about one thing – their unborn young are delicious.
I could go on and on and on, but I just bought a bunch of new bras. Therefore I will only reiterate one thing. Listening to Feist. Like I said – when hell freezes over.
Don’t be shy, friends – tell me what you don’t like. Unless it is me. Keep that to yourself.