The Dirty Princess

I had my share of conflicts with a couple girls in high school; I wasn’t sheltered into thinking that everyone can be your friend, if you just get to know them. Screw that; it’s a fairytale. Some people just aren’t meant to get along... but nothing had prepared me for Dannie. She was the ultimate caricature of a bitch that teen dramas based their main antagonist on, but Dannie was actually real... and we had to live with her. I would also need to mention her utter lack of morals in the promiscuity department as well. I know I wasn’t exactly a saint either, but she crossed lines that I wouldn’t even think to go near.

She took every opportunity to remind us that she was better than us, mainly due to her parent’s money, but other reasons were applied as required. Some things that came out of her mouth were SO bitchy, I thought sometimes she had to have been joking... but she wasn’t! The deviousness in her method was that she would mostly do it in front of other people, notably guys. If there was no one around to impress or witness her debasing one of us, she was as sweet as a rotten candy apple. We had nicknamed her “Princess”, mainly because it was easier to say than “Psycho Dirty Fucking Bitch Hose Bag”. Here are a couple choice conversations I had with her:

“How much was that watch?” She said with a slight under-tone of disgust, as if she was about to vomit, and then stuck her wrist in my face. “This one was like 400 bucks, like it?”

“Are you still eating an entire can of beans in one sitting?” Then, she turned to the guy that was there and continued (as if I was no longer in the room), “One of those cans takes me, like, 3 days to eat!”

And my personal favourite: “I know YOU couldn’t wear something like this, but how does it look on me?” She tauntingly asked while twirling around in a short, slutty dress.

Dannie’s paradox existed in her ‘environmental hygiene’. She NEVER cleaned up after herself, to the point where fuzzy mold would grow on most of her dirty dishes; and she had a putrid pet rat that she would put out in the hall every night. In the morning, the hall would be littered with wood shavings and rat shit, and she never once attempted to clean it up. Waking up to rat shit was just fantastic first thing in the morning. Gross!

Finally, we had had enough. I piled all the rat crap and moldy dishes and made an impressive mountain in front of her door. She cleaned it up, but never confronted us about it. And she never took a hint from it either; the next week was just as bad as the last. She must have called her mother about it and performed some sob story about how we were so awful to her, and how she was the fragile victim. Boo- Fucking-Hooo! We assumed that because about 2 weeks later, her mother came back to the house with her on that Sunday night. We were all in the main common area when the two of them arrived and proceeded directly up to her room (with zero acknowledgements that we were there). What? No hello? No kisses?

Then, all we heard was her mother gasp loudly and her voice filled with utter horror, “NO WONDER THEY PILE YOUR CRAP IN FRONT OF YOUR DOOR – THIS IS DISGUSTING! I WOULD HATE YOU AS A ROOMMATE TOO. YOU WEREN’T RAISED TO LIVE LIKE THIS. CLEAN THIS SHIT UP NOW!”

As she walked out the front door, she gave us a quick wave, “Sorry ladies!” It was a small consolation.