A contest

The prize for which is nothing but bragging rights.
Background: I have been roped into a church talent show for this weekend. I could have offered a number of my talents–photography for the display portion, singing a song or playing on my trumpet–but I don’t have enough time to prepare anything interesting. I’d have to spend money to print and mount my most recent photography, etc. So I volunteered to read something. I know. What was I thinking?
But I figured I must have something I could read. Just now I was rereading a partial manuscript of a story I’ve been working on forever, and I have a chapter that, reading it a year later, I wondered if I’d really written. It’s actually pretty good!
So I’m polishing it tonight, making sure it’s ready for a reading. And I run across this sentence:

She might not be squeamish of blood or manure or any number of farm-related things most people found disgusting—Maggie knew she stood out in a crowd, especially at lunchtime–but bugs were the one thing she couldn’t stand.

Just what I was thinking when I wrote this sentence? The world may never know. I have no idea, that’s for sure.
Your mission, should you choose to accept it? Make this sentence fit. Give it context in which that clause in the middle actually makes sense!