I am brat

Not in a Paula Abdul live action movie about dolls kind of way.
Just a brat.
To illuminate...
There is some construction work current in motion on our office building. With all my luck, it is on my side and just a floor above mine. It's been a clangy bangy morning. This coupled with a pretty busy day of three different sets of meetings on a couple different floors for my folks, it's been a bit crazy around here (which I'm cool with, crazy can be fun).
In the past 45 minutes I've grown very close to our elevators as I've been on them for 7 or 8 trips. We have three - two nice elevators and a freight. Each time I've climbed onto one of the nice ones, there is a construction person on it covered in dust/muck/dirt. It's not an easy gig, my dad was a stone mason for over 50 years - I think I saw him dusty more often than not.

My brattitude reared it's ugly head on the fifth trip as I stood in the elevator in my shiny Kenneth Cole Boots and Donna suit (I love eBay, but that is another topic) , in my head I seriously looked at the fellow and thought

"Aren't you supposed to be using the freight elevator?"

For that moment, I was every bratty girl in the movies that ends up not getting the guy b/c she's a brat.
BRAT!
I need to corral my Brattitude for the day.

Ok, I'll admit, sometimes it's fun to be bratty, but that situation usually involves Grey Goose, excellent munchies and the type of women described in Pink's song "Stupid Girls."