It’s a challenge to narrow them down to only 6, but let’s give it a try. Don’t feel bad if you do any of things or eat any of these things or like any of these things, I’m not here to guilt trip anyone. That’s what your mother-in-law is for. I’m just here to ask the question…am I the only one who can’t stand the sound of a crinkling grocery bag or the smell of flan?
- Crinkling Grocery Bags
This one leads me to believe that in a previous life my lover may have killed me by suffocation with an Albertson’s grocery bag. I probably heard it coming, went to roll off the bed, but was caught by one of the handles and semi-choked before the crinkly bag made it’s way around my face. I’m the reason they have to print “Not a toy” and “Do not use in cribs” on every plastic bag ever made. In their unsmashed forms plastic grocery bags are an acceptable way to transport food, but as soon as they get balled up and put in a cupboard for future use as a dog poop scoop or a carrying device for the shorts my kid peed in at the zoo, I’m going off the deep end. Keep your balled up, crinkly grocery bags away from me.
2. Group Texts, Group Emails, Group FB Messages…basically anything in a group.
With all due respect, I don’t want to get notifications of the 600 responses you received from that baby burp video you sent as a private message to every fucking person you have ever been in the same room with. I’m also not super interested in what your mom has to say about your mass text updating us on your mammogram. When my phone beeps every 12 seconds I start to think that something important is happening, like my kid is deathly ill or my Amazon package was delivered. Not that your great-uncle twice removed “Is thrilled to hear that you are finally seeing someone about the giant wart in your armpit. Can you post pictures so we won’t worry?” The limit of a group text or FB message is four people…four people who actually care about what is happening and won’t reply with more than one response. That’s the limit. It’s the law. Look it up.
3. The word moist.
I know I’m not alone here. My husband and kids are painfully aware of this little hang up of mine and insist on talking about moist cake and moist towelettes on a regular basis. There are other ways to describe cake, people. Delicious, sweet, light, lovely, perfectly baked. We all know those little hand wipes you get at BBQ places are moist, so let’s just call them towelettes.
4. People who refuse to pull forward in the school drop off line.
There are blogs and memes and posts all over the web about these people, yet they seem to be the only ones who aren’t getting the fucking memo. My son’s school posted two new signs this year kindly asking folks to pull as far forward as possible to accommodate the shit ton of people behind them. I’m not sure they worded it that way, but maybe they should have. This morning I sat behind someone who had a Duggar sized family and obviously felt that they were too important to pull their school bus sized van any further up. With nary enough caffeine in my system, I was forced to wait behind them for 10 minutes while mommy hugged all 62 kids of her pampered pets and blocked the rest of us from pulling forward. Heads up…your kids can walk an extra 20 feet to school, so follow the signs posted and pull the fuck up.
5. Other people’s feet touching my body.
I don’t have a problem with feet. In fact, I was a massage therapist for a couple years and I had no problem rubbing stranger’s feet for money. But the feel of my husband’s cold feet and untrimmed toenails rubbing on my legs in the middle of the night is enough to make me murderous. He claims that his poor little tootsies get cold at night and my legs are so warm he just wants to cuddle up to me while his nasty hooves scrape across my legs. “Get your feet off me and put on some socks. That’s what they are for.” I love my kid’s feet until they become the same size as mine and then they are just feet that need to stay the hell away from me.
6. Flan, baklava, and those weird wedding cookies.
I’m a good eater…just ask my mom. We were raised to eat whatever we were served without complaint so I’ve had my fair share of casseroles and ‘fridge clean out’ soup. But flan…that eggy texture and the way it wiggles on the plate while everyone gasps in excitement. No. I would sooner eat a carton of questionable cottage cheese than chomp down on one single bite of flan. Baklava is another texture issue. That particular dessert tastes like someone took 12 sheets of wrapping tissue, soaked them in corn syrup, layered them together, and called it food. I don’t eat wrapping tissue, even if it’s coated in sugar. The cookies I’m speaking of have a crunch on your teeth that reminds me of chewing on chalk. I think people call them meringue cookies or wedding cookies…I call them a huge waste of calories so please pass the brownies.
I’m sure I could come up with a few thousand more things that irritate me, but we would be here all night and pretty soon you would start thinking “What doesn’t bother this bitch?” And that list would be fairly short and not entertaining.
What makes your list of irritations? Comment and let me know. I’ll just assume everyone hates the word moist, so we don’t need to keep talking about it. Unless it makes you moist. (I just threw up in my mouth.)