So, lovely kdiddy of kdiddy.org and MamaPop tagged me for a meme wherein I get to tell you six ways in which I am a weird neurotic that should be leashed and muzzled in public spaces. Actually, the assignment was to enumerate our unremarkable quirks, which seems like setting the bar a bit low, I think.
The trouble is, much like kdiddy, I am so familiar with my quirks that they’re actually completely normal to me. To me, you’re the freak, because you don’t have all these “features” I have, which you’d be inclined to call “quirks”.
I should also mention that you, the internets, are getting a very special insight into my psyche. Some of these quirks are so quirky, even Andrew doesn’t really know how crazy I am.
Quirk #1: If You Talk About Your Injuries in Any Detail While In My Presence I Will Totally Freak Out and Run Screaming From The Room.
This especially goes for anything “infected”. Seriously, if you have a boil or an abscess of some kind, please to be not sharing any of that information with me. Don’t even tell me you have this malady because, while I’m sorry to know you are in discomfort, I am about to add insult to your injury by hurling all over you.
Quirk #2: My Brain Goes From Zero to Morbid In No Time
No matter how benign the thought or circumstance, my train of thought will quickly bring me to a morbid and spooky place that usually involves my untimely demise. Like, if I have dirty socks on, I will spend the whole day thinking about how, if I get hit by a car and die, the M.E. at the morgue will make fun of me to his assistant about how funky-smelling my feet are. Were, rather. God, what an asshole, I’ll think to myself. You carve up dead people. You’re no prize! Really, though, it’s good my brain brings me to this place, because I always have clean socks.
Quirk #3: I Probably Hate Cucumbers More Than You Ever Thought Possible
If you are eating cucumbers near me, I secretly despise you for making me smell them. “They barely have a smell!” you’ll say. But remember how, in The Witches, the witches hate children so much that they can smell them even when they can’t see them? And how wretched children smell to them, particularly when they are clean and sweet-smelling to child-approving mortals? It’s kind of like that with me and cucumbers. You think they have a barely detectable smell, while I gag from the stench. Really, it’s a wonder I can even go out for Greek or Persian food since they think everything is better with cucumber.
Oddly, I love dill pickles.
Quirk #4: I Still Have a Baby Tooth
Like, it’s still in my jaw. There was no adult tooth under it, and when I had braces it got sort of wedged in place. It’ll fall out some day, they told me, but I’m 27. This should make it easy enough if I’m ever in a horrific and fatal car crash where they have to consult my dental records to identify my remains, what with my quirky dental x-rays. See, there’s Personality Quirk #2 for you!
Body Quirk #5 My Right Breast Is Much Bigger Than My Left
Yes, I know, we’re all asymmetrical. But this is a substantial difference. Some shirts look funny on me, and my left bra cup is usually sort of pathetically…unfulfilled. I’d wear a falsie but, honestly, it doesn’t bother me all that much. Most people say they can’t tell, but I think they’re just saying that so no one thinks they’re constantly staring at my chest constantly like the dirty perverts they really are.
Quirk #6: I Have an Irrational Fear of…Moths
I blame The Silence of the Lambs. You know those creepy death’s head moths that Buffalo Bill keeps, because apparently his character wasn’t creepy enough without keeping a bizarre, cloth-eating menace for a pet? The problem is, while I know most moths are not death’s head moths, it’s hard to tell what kind of moth you’re dealing with when it’s dive-bombing your overhead lamp repeatedly, and then your head, over and over. And that behavior strikes me as dangerously tenacious. I simply don’t trust them.
This is the part of my post where I’m supposed to corral a bunch of you into doing the same thing in your blog, but the thing is…this isn’t LJ, and I dunno who actually reads my humble blog. So, if you’re reading this, consider your ass tagged.
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