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Picky Picky

Not being able to decide between any number of things to buy or do must be a trait I’ve inherited. I drove around the commercial district with my dad this afternoon for about four hours, looking for a single camera. You know, to take pictures with. On a vacation he’s leaving for in a week. He kept telling me not to hurry him, but that’s the risk you take when you suddenly decide on something like that. For the record, he wouldn’t have time to make the buy any other time until he leaves, so this was a bit of hurried purchase to begin with.

Not that I’m much better. I can’t decide between Cheese Ruffles and BBQ Lays at the gas station. And I always end up getting something else anyway. I’ve been on more than one late-night excursion with friends where ordering ended up taking longer than the rest of the visit. And we’ll get something completely different than what we wanted than when we came in. We joke about how stupid we are to be doing something like that, then we can’t do it anyway. An ironic snake eating it’s own plaid tail.

I should probably do something about this. Indecisiveness can’t be a good thing. And it’s not really like I’m looking for the best or the most bang for my buck, either; I usually know what I’ll be getting, but can’t help but worry about whatever ramifications eating French toast over regular eggs and pancakes will bring. I should buy a timer that shocks me when I take too long. I’ll make the same decision either way.

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