No! My Chair!!

Sometimes I become very petulant about very stupid things.  It's like somewhere inside of me, four-year-old Kiki is alive and well.  Four-year-old Kiki will always make an appearance when someone asks me to move seats.  When someone asks, "Can you move?" my immediate reaction is to stomp my feet, cross my arms, pout and say, "NO!  MY CHAIR!!" 

For example, at the movies, let's say there is one empty chair on one side of me and an empty chair on the other side of the person I'm with.  I turn into a rage monster when someone comes in after the previews have started or worse when the movie has started and says, "Can you move down so we can sit together?"  It's a very easy thing to do, it's not really an inconvenience, yet to me, those people might as well have been asking "Can I have your kidney?" "NO!  MY KIDNEY!"  I'll move, but like the big bad wolf, I'll also huff and puff as I move one seat down.  

Most recently, I was in the city having lunch with my good friend.  We were enjoying some delicious Mexican food at Qdoba which was deserted.  We were about halfway through our food when a group of young 20-somethings come into the restaurant, get their food and take over the three tables on one side of us.  Keep in mind the rest of the restaurant, including two high tables with 10 chairs each were free.  A few minutes after these people sit down, two more of their friends come along.  Alas, there are no more seats at the tables the group took.  They never discussed moving their group anywhere else in the empty restaurant.  Instead, this douchemonkey looked right at me and said, "Would you two mind moving down a table so we can sit with our team?"  In my head I screamed "YES I WOULD MIND.  THIS IS MY TABLE!  MY TABLE!!!  I WAS HERE FIRST!!!!!"  While I was throwing this fit in my head, my friend stared at all the empty tables especially the empty 10-top table in the restaurant and the guy says, "Oh, we didn't see that when we sat down," then kept standing over us waiting for us to move.  I really wanted to throw my queso all over the table, scream and be forced to be dragged to the next table like four-year-old Kiki would do.  Instead, we grudgingly got up and moved to the next table and then gave death glares for the rest of our lunch. 

I could try to come up with some psychological explanation that deep down I'm super possessive over things because I have a twin and a brother only 20 months older and so I had to guard your territory with my life when I was growing up, but I think the plain truth is that sometimes, I'm just a brat.  So don't ask me to move my chair, OK?!