If I thought about it long enough, I could probably devote an entire blog to my many idiosyncrasies. (Is it any accident that word almost has the word "crazy" embedded in it?) I'm not talking about my sometime-OCD tendencies, but instead relatively minor things about my personality that I generally keep to myself. I promise I won't bombard you with all of them at one time.
One that came to light recently resulted in one of the few times I've seen Hubby speechless. I wanted some hot apple cider (the instant kind, the only kind we have), so I got out a small boiler and prepared to heat the water on the stovetop.
"Why don't you put it in the microwave?" Hubby asked. "It's faster that way."
Before I could stop the words from leaving my mouth, I said, "I don't like it that kind of hot."
Not THAT HOT. That KIND of hot. I couldn't even articulate what I meant. For some reason I prefer to boil the water on the stovetop for instant drinks like hot chocolate and apple cider. Don't ask me why. Please. Even stranger, when I'm at school and that's my only option, I quite readily use the microwave to heat my water. And it's fine.
I'm kind of sorry I'm burdening you with this.
Another idiosyncrasy involves those reusable grocery bags. I started buying them several years ago and have almost reached the point of always having them in the car when I go grocery shopping. I try to return them to the car as soon as I unload groceries so I will know they are ready for the next shopping expedition.
Because I used my four-day weekend for mundane things like bike rides and gymnastics meets and did NOT use any of the four days to do the weekly grocery shopping, I had to stop on the way home from school today. There aren't many things I hate more than having to stop at the grocery store on the way home. Come to think of it, I don't like to stop ANYWHERE on the way home.
When I got to the store, I reached in the back seat for my cloth grocery bags. There were three of them there, and they all said "Ingle's." I was not at Ingle's. I was at Publix. And I refused to use the bags with the wrong store name on them. Hubby says they would be tickled to think they had stolen a customer away and I shouldn't worry about it, but I can't bring myself to use the wrong bags.
I'm willing to save the planet and all, but it better be prepared to be brand-specific.
I'll shut up now.
Showing posts with label stuff I probably shouldn't tell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stuff I probably shouldn't tell. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Some Things Shouldn't Be Told......
A few months ago I wrote a blog post about my first apartment. I loved that little apartment so much.
At dinner tonight, somehow Hubby and I got on the subject of French fries. It reminded me of a particularly bad habit I had when I was in college and lived in that little apartment. I should have been too ashamed to tell Hubby, much less put it out there for the whole world to read on my blog.
Oh, I temporarily forgot. The whole world doesn't read my blog. Carry on.
I loved that my apartment was on the city bus line, and it was on the very edge of campus. I also loved that it was near a lot of restaurants. Not that I could afford to eat at many of them, you understand.
There was one "restaurant" that I frequented pretty ... frequently. Particularly the morning after a night out, which only happened ... once or twice a weekend. Maybe more at the end of the semester.
My favorite fast food place was Burger King. I often went through their drive-through (those were still relatively novel things), because it meant I didn't have to put on a bra. Or shoes. I would order one of the combo meals with a big old cheeseburger, a large order of French fries, and a soft drink. Not the diet kind either.
Because I knew I would start eating the fries out of the bag on my way home, I would also buy an extra order of French fries. Nothing worse than getting home with the cheeseburger and drink and finding all the fries gone. Buying an extra order fixed that problem. I then had one order of fries to eat on the way home and another to eat with my meal when I reached my apartment.
The picture below should give you a good idea of just how sad that story is. And why it would be so much better if I didn't tell everything that comes into my brain.
At dinner tonight, somehow Hubby and I got on the subject of French fries. It reminded me of a particularly bad habit I had when I was in college and lived in that little apartment. I should have been too ashamed to tell Hubby, much less put it out there for the whole world to read on my blog.
Oh, I temporarily forgot. The whole world doesn't read my blog. Carry on.
I loved that my apartment was on the city bus line, and it was on the very edge of campus. I also loved that it was near a lot of restaurants. Not that I could afford to eat at many of them, you understand.
There was one "restaurant" that I frequented pretty ... frequently. Particularly the morning after a night out, which only happened ... once or twice a weekend. Maybe more at the end of the semester.
My favorite fast food place was Burger King. I often went through their drive-through (those were still relatively novel things), because it meant I didn't have to put on a bra. Or shoes. I would order one of the combo meals with a big old cheeseburger, a large order of French fries, and a soft drink. Not the diet kind either.
Because I knew I would start eating the fries out of the bag on my way home, I would also buy an extra order of French fries. Nothing worse than getting home with the cheeseburger and drink and finding all the fries gone. Buying an extra order fixed that problem. I then had one order of fries to eat on the way home and another to eat with my meal when I reached my apartment.
The picture below should give you a good idea of just how sad that story is. And why it would be so much better if I didn't tell everything that comes into my brain.
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