Last night, I asked my husband if he thought that I was a high maintenance person. After a few witty and sarcastic remarks, he admitted that yes, I am indeed high maintenance. I'm not particularly proud of it, nor am I ashamed of it; it's who I am.
It rears it's head most often in restaurants. Like Sally, I always have to use a lot of words when I'm ordering. Honestly, I can't think of any entree that I order anywhere which I don't have to customize in some way. Maybe pizza; I generally leave pizza alone. But typically it's add this, take this off, put that on the side...I always have to do something to it. Andy is so simple when he orders that most often we probably do look like Harry and Sally.
Just when I thought that I couldn't make restaurants more complicated, something new came up. I have now become that person at the Mongolian Grill. You know, the one who holds up the entire line by asking the guys to clean off the grill before they cook your food. Yep, from now on that will be me. I'm not really trying to be difficult. It's just that last night, I paid $11.95 for a plate of food that was presumably delicious, but I was unable to taste anything after the third bite. Seriously, someone before me must have gone heavy on the Dragon Oil because after a couple of bites, my mouth was on fire and I had to guzzle water just to make it through my meal.
So, I (sort of) apologize to waitstaff everywhere. I know how I want my food and I'm going to order it that way. I (sort of) apologize to the people in line at the grill - I know that you're waiting for your meal, but I'd like to be able to taste mine. Apparently, I really am high maintenance. Perhaps I'll just say that I'm confident in what I want. Yeah...that sounds better.
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