Saturday, November 21, 2009

Good Morning

It matters to me that I make a good first impression. When meeting someone for the first time I replace the foul language I learned in Glasgow (read: high school) for phrases like "gosh" or "crikey.*" I only put them down if they set themselves up for it. I try to remember their name, though I stop if they forget mine, and this only lasts as long as the encounter. For the time being at least, I want them to think that I consider them important.

The fact that when I first met my flatmate Gav, I was stealing glasses from a bar is by the by. I impressed him with my brilliant wit instead. The fact that I was doing the same thing when I first met my flatmate Archie is also by the by. He was way more drunk than me, and neither of us knew we'd be sharing a flat one day.

So I may be slightly immoral. Perhaps I got out and get wasted occasionally. Sometimes I fall on my face because I'm wearing ridiculous (incredibly cute) shoes in Glasgow when it's snowing. But, I'm a basically good person, and, at least before they get the opportunity to know me better, I want a new acquaintance to believe that. I care about first impressions, I'm just not very good at them.

I'm also not very good at breakfast. Or rather, I'm not very good at organising it. I eat cereal with yoghurt, or toast with butter. If I have neither, it's going to be a bad day for someone out there who has already passed the "good first impression" stage, and who's opinion I no longer care about. Unless it's the weekend. In which case I can spend time making a delicious and more interesting breakfast.

Such a thing happened today. I decided to make a French omelet. Not complex, but very tasty, light and fluffy, designed specifically to melt in your mouth and make you want to spend the rest of the day lounging around and drinking good wine. They don't seem to have any negative effects on me. I began, and had got to the stage where I should fold the omelet, when the buzzer rang.

Postman? I have a lifelong grudge with postmen everywhere, but we won't go into that. I casually and perfectly flipped the omelet into the folded shape I wanted, moved it off the heat and let whoever it was in. Switched on the lights in the hall, and opened the door.

The guy came up the stairs. "Hi... Is uh... Jamie about?"
The need to make a good impression kicked straight in.
"I'm sorry, Jamie? He doesn't live here, think you've got the wrong flat."

He apologised and left, I couldn't help but notice he was stifling a giggle as he did so. Weird. Went back to my perfect omelet. Sat down to eat. There's a mirror on the wall by the table, so it was then that I noticed the huge, white, eggy stain on my top.

"Omelet splash" is literally the worst euphemism I have ever thought of. Somehow I think the opportunity to make a good impression on Jamie's mate has been lost forever. On the other hand, I do have a hilarious new euphemism, so maybe it's not been a truly dreadful morning.

Perhaps though, I should stop claiming that I'm basically a good person.

*Actually, I'm just generally loving any opportunity to say "crikey" at the moment. Also "gosh," "goodness," "cripes," "blimey" etc. Haven't quite managed to pull off "golly" just yet, but I'm working on it.

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