Uh, yeah. I’ve always been a bit of a bitch. This is reinforced by some of my closest friends on the daily, but especially so when the dreaded “how we met” stories come into play.
My personal favourite is my friend Kat. We met my first year at the U of A in residence. I think this happened on a Sunday or Monday. It was definitely at the beginning of the week.
We were hanging out in one of my hallmates’ rooms, precariously perched on the stock furniture that remained unchanged since our dorms’ mid-seventies inception.
Kat came screaming in with a promise of “exciting news” and excitedly related that her sister Jenn was officially engaged.
My response? “Maybe I could be excited for you if I knew who the fuck you were.” She took the whole thing in stride though, and we’ve been friends since.
I recently reacquainted myself with someone I met a few years ago, I don’t know if he remembers me, and I sort of pray he doesn’t, because our first encounter was another epic display of my cunty behaviour.
Does he remember? Or did he even connect the dots? It took me at least six months to put it together.
The FML aspect of it is that I’d really like to get to know this dude now, but I don’t really need this incident hanging over my head.
I’ll have to see where it goes, before freaking out about it.
Either way, I need to stop torching bridges.