If you have spent any time at all with me--or reading my rantings on this here blog--then you know that I have my share of quirks. "Quirks" sounds much nicer than "BatPoo Crazy," don't you think?
Well, today I thought I would share a few with you. Because, um, well, frankly I have nothing better to write about. But let's just call it "creativity," shall we? Because that sounds much better than "laziness."
Quirk the first: When I go grocery shopping, I don't just toss my groceries into the cart willy nilly. (I am totally bringing back that word. And shenanigans, too. Oh! And monkeyshines! There aren't nearly enough monkeyshines these days!) I place them in the cart in an orderly fashion, like with like. And then I place them on the checkout counter the same way. In the misguided hope that the bagger will bag them the way I have arranged them. But if the bagger doesn't--and they usually don't--I never say anything. Because that would be confrontational and I am a wussy. That's right. I am an anal retentive control freak about how I put my groceries in the cart and on the counter, but a scaredy cat when it come to making sure they are bagged the way I want. Perhaps it's because I have a million billion things that cost a million billion dollars and I'm just grateful that someone is actually going to bag them for me that I don't want to make waves.
2. If there is a song on the radio that I love and I turn it up to listen and people (read: usually my children) talk through it, it makes me crazy. "Really? I want to screech? This story about who walked with who during passing period/dubstepping/video games/what your friend did during bathroom break can't wait 2 minutes? Three at the most? REALLY? Sweet Mother of Pearl? Did you not get the hint when I turned the radio up again that you could stick yourself on pause and give me 2-3 minutes of silence whereby I might derive the merest hint of pleasure from something besides your voice?" But I don't say that. In fact, I rarely ask the offender to quit talking. And I suffer in martyred silence because I am a non-confrontational wussy. Okay. There might actually be some heavy sighing on my part.
3. I cannot sleep in pajama pants. If you ever get me pajamas (But really, unless you're my mother, why would you? That would be weird. And slightly creepy.) you should know I will not use the pants. Well, I might use them when I'm not actually in bed, but I will not sleep in them. They make me claustrophobic. And do not get me started on nightgowns/nightshirts. Whoever invented them is the spawn of Satan. All nightgowns do is creep their way up your body until you are essentially clothed in a tee shirt, so you may as well wear a tee shirt--which is what I wear--an oversized tee shirt. (Me so sexy.) And they get all twisty around your legs so that if you ever need to leap like a Ninja from your bed because an assassin has crept into your room in the dark of night, you will lose. You will be dead before you leave the sheets, my friend. Nightgowns are an assassin's best friend.
4. Using the wrong word like "weary" for "leery" or, God forbid, "volumptuous" for "voluptuous". It's like fingernails on a chalkboard. But I will never correct you. I will just suffer in silence. Unless you are in my family. Then I will make fun of you mercilessly.
5. I am a top-sheet-tucker-inner. I like to have my top sheet tucked in nice and snug when I go to bed. This is only really a problem if you are sharing a bed with a top-sheet-un-tucker. Guess which kind I am married to? We leave his half untucked and my half tucked. The problem here is that my side invariably comes untucked because of my beloved's need to make sure his toes don't curl over. Sheesh. Some people! Anyway. When he is out of town, one of the first things I do is go and tuck in the sheet all the way around. And then I throw my head back and laugh the laugh of the maniacally evil. BWAHAHAHAHAHA! It's awesome knowing that I'll have 2 or 3 nights of fully tucked bliss.
6. Jello is the worst food ever created. I can't stand the smell or God help me, the creepy jiggly-ness of it. I am shuddering just thinking about it. If you love Jello, that's fine. But keep it to yourself or we can't be friends.
7. I can't abide stepping on a wet bath rug. I will just about knock people over to get to the shower first so that I don't have to step on their cold, soggy footprints on the bath rug. I don't understand why my family doesn't understand that it is possible to dry off--and I mean completely dry off--before stepping onto the bath rug, but they just don't get it. And worse than that is stepping on a sopping bath rug in sock feet! Urgh! It both squicks me out and enrages me at the same time.
8. I have a near pathological fear of driving into a body of water. I'm sure I have mentioned this before. But whenever I drive I go through the scenarios in my head and imagine what I would do should such a situation arise. It doesn't make me change my route or anything--I mean, I don't avoid driving near water--but it does enter my head every single time I get into the car.
Okay. So now that you have a crush on me because yo, I am so normal, it's your turn. What quirks do you have? Hate wooden spoons? Love to bite through popsicle sticks? Wear the underwear of the opposite sex? Do share! (Okay, maybe not that last one. I mean, we're friends and all, but that might be over sharing.) Please make me feel normal and share. I promise, I won't tell.
