I've discovered something about myself.
I really, really, really hate getting stood up. No, like, Really. Really really.
You know, I'm flexible, I'm ready to jump at a whim, dance 'til dawn, go somewhere I've never been before, with people I don't know. I can do that! At the drop of a hat, even! Just tell me where and when, and I will floof my hair and slap on some makeup and I. Will. Be. There.
Except... except... do not... DO NOT... get me to the point where I'm ready, I've already applied mascara! and then say, "Uh. No. Everything's off." Because, then? Then? Oh, the anger. Oh, the fire and rage that will course through my veins as I look at my prettily made up face, my carefully chosen outfit and realize that I'm all dressed up with no place to freakin' go!
Y'know, I'm happy to stay at home on a Saturday night. After all, my Fab 5 is on at 11:45, and I'm past the age where I simply can't be home on a weekend. BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I ALREADY HAD MASCARA ON! MASCARA, PEOPLE! OK?
I don't get into red-vision-rage often - in fact, it's only happened a couple of times this year. And each time, it's when someone said they'd be somewhere, and didn't show up, or plans were made, and torn down at the very last freaking second, or someone didn't come through on a promise of presence for some half-arsed reason that doesn't bear thinking about.
You know, after the blood cools down to a lukewarm simmer, I'm rational enough to know that these things will sometimes happen.
But it's good to know what my boiling point is. It's good to know. You wanna piss Mare off? I mean, really piss her off, so that she's driven to eat chocolate and clean the inside of the oven? Yeah, just cancel after her make-up is on.
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