by Kris Neri of the Femmes Fatales
I am not high maintenance. I mean, really not. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me, especially after I’ve rattled off my lunch order in a fraction of a second, while my companion at any lunch takes so long, she should be reciting the precise path we should take to achieve world peace, not giving a food order.
It’s not that I don’t like things. What I like I really like.
Take clothing, for instance. I always think I want to be someone who’s really well dressed someday, someone who is so stylishly and uniquely put together that people remark on it. But what I prefer to wear are jeans. Not just jeans, but really well-worn ones. Not artfully torn jeans that go for big bucks in some froufrou boutique, but ones that are torn from too much wear.
Part of the problem is that I was born without the shopping gene. I don’t get how what other women call “retail therapy” is any kind of therapy at all. You can’t be really put together if you regard finding those special pieces as torture.
But another part of it is that one of those things I really like is comfort. Nothing in my orbit provides as much comfort as old jeans.
People who’ve attended my appearances might be surprised at that because I typically wear dress pants for my appearances, and look rather tailored. I’m telling you now that what I would have preferred was that all of us in attendance at that bookstore or library wore our rattiest old jeans. If not our PJs.
Coffee is another thing that I’m quite fond of. But again — low-maintenance. I’m not one of those particular people who sound like they're giving the scientific formula for a new life-saving drug, not giving a coffee order. It takes them longer to rattle out their formula than it takes me to drink mine.
To me the most perfect coffee drink is pure unadulterated French Roast. Oh, sure, I’ve tried other things. While traveling in Italy I always had cappuccino with my breakfast. Somehow it seemed to be the thing to do in Italy, one of the elements that reinforces that you’re there. But I never drink that here. For one thing, cappuccino doesn’t taste the same here. We put in too much foam. Besides, apart from brief traveling respites, I can’t imagine a better taste than strong, black French Roast.
Burgers are another area that I’m not high maintenance about. I enjoy them equally well cooked anywhere from a pink center to a fairly red one.
Now, the fries that often come with the burger are another story. I need them to be really crisp. Really, really crisp. I actually judge a restaurant, not by the quality of my burger because I’m not that fussy as long as it’s somewhat juicy and some variety of rare, but how crisp the fries are. I always say to the server, “Leave ‘em in the oil so long they cry for mercy.” But no matter how emphatic I am, I’m rarely happy with the result.
Sometimes, when my fries are especially limp, I’ve been known to say to my server, “Does your cook think these fries were crying for mercy? If he does, he has no idea about the tolerance of potatoes.”
I could go on, but why bother? I think I’ve made my case that I’m the least high-maintenance, easy-going, sloppy-dressing, non-particular person alive. I just want what I want.
How about you?
My kids were lucky. Although I lack the shopping gene, not to mention the make up and style genes, they have aunts and older cousins who would take them to the mall for Black Friday. I also read rather than watch TV. On the other hand, given my age and weight, they will never have to wince at the sight of me in leggings. My jeans are cargo pants with big pockets so no purse either
Posted by: Susan Neace | October 06, 2017 at 06:29 AM
Great blog! I think I'm the worst combination: I am hi-maintenance but I somehow don't look it. Sigh.
Posted by: catriona mcpherson | October 06, 2017 at 11:23 AM
Fries are important. My brother only eats the crispest fries in the order. His 7 year old grandson not only takes after him, but also tries to trick his mom into eating the "soggy" fries.
If you want to eat the very best fries, try a Basque restaurant. Their fries are so thin that they come out consistently crisp and delicious.
Posted by: Ellie Enos | October 06, 2017 at 05:38 PM
Susan, you sound like my kind of woman! I don't go to the mall on Black Fridays, either. Actually, I don't go to malls at all. Love the cargo pants/no purse idea!
Posted by: krisneri | October 08, 2017 at 07:32 AM
Catroina, you've always struck me as a woman who carves her own path. And that's a compliment. Whatever you are, it works.
Posted by: krisneri | October 08, 2017 at 07:34 AM
Ellie, love the story about your brother and his grandson! I will look for a Basque restaurant. I know we don't have any where I live, but I'll look for them when I travel. Any place that does fries right has to be great!
Posted by: krisneri | October 08, 2017 at 07:35 AM
Fun blog, Kris. My husband is one of those people in search of the perfect burger. He often rejects expensive ones as "no soul" and prefer cheeseburgers in dives. I'm particular about my tea and carry Dragonwell Green in my purse. Love old jeans around the house, but like you, I dress tailored for talks.
Posted by: Elaine Viets | October 08, 2017 at 08:36 AM
I love cheeseburgers in dives, too, Elaine! They tend to cook them the way people want, rather than assuming everyone likes them the same.
Posted by: krisneri | October 12, 2017 at 06:42 AM