We all have quirks. I was reminded of this as I scarfed down grapes on my way home from work today. I had neglected to eat when my body said I was hungry, so I was beyond starving by the time I left, 45 minutes later than I had planned (hello, teacher's hours), so I was happily tossing back grapes when the unthinkable happened. I popped a grape into my mouth, only to be greeted by the woody stem that had not been properly removed from the lovely grape before it was deposited into a plastic container by my husband when he packed my lunch. I absolutely HATE the stems on grapes and prefer to have them removed (completely, mind you, not leaving behind that tiny stump) and have all my grapes, perfectly round (no brownish spots), firm (not mushy), washed and placed into a container so that I may enjoy them without the hassle of removing them from their stems. I know what you're thinking, "Bitch, your husband made your lunch, stop complaining!" but I relay this story to illustrate how this blog came to mind. My grape "thing" is a quirk, we all have them, and I am going to share some of mine, in the hopes that you will share some of yours and we'll all go through this life knowing we are not quite insane, but rather, "unique".
So. I hate walking down stairs. Walking UP stairs is fine, but walking DOWN stairs, for me, brings on a sort of inexplicable paranoia of falling or slipping to my untimely death. Ok, that might be a bit dramatic, but seriously, I have no idea why in the past few years I have developed this aversion to walking down stairs. Oh, and it's not carpeted stairs. Those are fine. It's any other type of stair - wood, cement, metal (gulp!), and God forbid it's those kind of stairs where the back is open. Yikes! Bleachers are even worse. I look like a total spaz when I walk down a set of bleachers. Maybe it's a defense mechanism I've developed in my "after 40" age group to prepare me for the "don't fall and break a hip" stage? I don't know. I just don't like walking down stairs.
I love pizza. But I eat it with a fork. I simply do not like touching my food with my hands, especially if it's "wet" food. Sure, I can eat chips and fruit and french fries with my hands. But anything that is drippy, greasy, wet or saucy I like to use a fork. Pizza qualifies on many levels. I mean, I'm not so crazy about it that I carry around a plastic fork (which, by the way, is totally inadequate for pizza). But my kids think it's weird.
I only like yogurt with something mixed in, but not granola because that's gross. More like walnuts and maybe bananas or strawberries. Eating yogurt plain is disgusting. And forget about Greek yogurt. That, to me, is the equivalent of drinking a carton of chunky, soured milk. ICK!
I constantly fidget with whatever is in my hand. I rub my thumbs along the edge of my cell phone which makes a horrific sound to the person on the other end of the call. I used to constantly twirl one of those "helicopter" toys with a stick and a propeller while I was on the phone or computer. The stick part had ridges in it and I liked how it felt in my hand. You know those textured stickers, books and bookmarks that have moving pictures on them depending on which way you angle them? That ridgy texture is awesome, too. I like to scratch it with my fingernails and listen to the noise it makes. If I don't have anything in my hands, I'll pick at my nails or rub my fingers together. Weird, huh?
I don't like the sound of swishy pants. You know, those athletic type pants with a water-resistant fabric that swish together when you walk? HATE THAT.
The other night my husband began to "wash" potatoes by putting a plug in the sink and filling it with water. The DIRTY sink! The sink that had not been properly scoured with Comet before filling it with water. The sink that contains the most germs in the entire house! I freaked. In fact, I got so upset that I grabbed all the potatoes out of the water, shoved him out of the way, and proceeded to scrub them each by hand, individually, then cut off all the "bad" parts before putting them in the oven. Yep, I really dislike food touching my dirty sink.
I LOVE the smell of freshly bleached towels and sheets. I don't care if bleach is a chemical and is maybe bad for you. To me, nothing is as sanitized and clean as when it's been washed in hot water and bleach. Mmmm...
You know how you have a "way" you drive out of your neighborhood? My husband and I take completely different routes. His explanation is that my way causes unexpected backups because I need to turn right and get stuck behind people going left. I think his way takes longer and is all baskasswards. We argue about this endlessly. I just have my "way" and driving to a familiar destination another way drives me nuts.
I confess - if I don't like a food, I never buy it for my family. On this list - asparagus (which I'm allergic to), radishes, beets, anything curry, certain cereals, certain types of bread, the list goes on. On the other hand, my own preferences have introduced my children to forbidden foods like Toaster Strudel and Lucky Charms. I admit my husband has changed our ways by introducing foods we've never tried before and at least I'm buying him his yucky Greek yogurt and brown mustard.
My bed is my sanctuary and I DO NOT LIKE my kids to sit on it, ever! If they lay down on my bed with school clothes on, I explode. Butts on my pillow are the ultimate sin. When I get in bed at night, I like to have near me: my phone, my Kindle, my computer (sometimes), and my fan. I've spent entire days in my bed and on weekends, I prefer to have my coffee and a pastry delivered to me there. Thanks goodness I have a nice husband who started that tradition. It's not an every weekend occurrence but it's sure nice when it happens!
I hate it when my husband attempts to "clean up" and moves my piles around. Yes, they look messy and cluttered, but I know where EVERYTHING is. I just don't want anyone to touch them until I get around to organizing them. Who cares if it takes three years? The other day, my husband said "where do you want me to relocate this pile for the next year?" I mean, it's not like I'm a hoarder. Though some days it looks like it.
When my kids were little, I'd let them help me "decorate" by putting window stickers on for the various seasons and holidays. They would stick them all in a clump and I'd rearrange them after they went to bed. Later, I realized it was better for me to just decorate when they were at school so it was all done when they came home and there was nothing left to "help" with. I'm big on matching so my kids grew up wearing matching socks (which might explain why they NEVER do now), matching outfits and, hopefully, a matching hair accessory or hat. If my bra and underwear match I feel "put together" all day, even though no one can see them. (For those of you who would like to make fun of me for this, I assure you, they rarely match!). I like things matched and, if possible, symmetrical. I've always marveled at another person's beautifully displayed objects d' art on their mantle or a shelf. Things I'd never think to put together or arrange just so because if there's a candlestick on one end, there must be one on the other. This is why I suck at decorating!
And, finally, one last quirk I'll share with you. I'm hopelessly in love with Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls, which my body does not appreciate one bit. And when I do indulge in them, I have to eat them a certain way - peel off the outer chocolate coating and "unroll" the cake roll, licking the white frosting as I go. It always falls apart when I do this, and at some point I have to just shove the whole thing in my mouth, but I never fail to attempt to eat it this "perfect" way. When I see my husband or kids take a bit of the whole roll at once, I die a little inside.
Go ahead and laugh! I'm not afraid to share my quirks. Who's brave enough to share theirs?