Wanna know what irks me? What gets in my psyche and stays there? What shifts my focus to it and it alone and then teeters on becoming annoyingly, blindingly “obsessive”???
To you, the gist of my ire might be considered petty or ridiculous. I might even be construed as shallow after you read this.
Well, I’ll risk it kids because these are FOUR things that rrreeeeeaaaallllyyyy bother me.
1. White or black heads. If you have a visible black head or white head, especially one that’s in a prominent position on the face, please, don’t leave your house. Women have a natural tendency to want to pick, pluck, cast off these nasty things. And since I’m a Sister of Fallopia, whenever I’m face-to-zit, I find it very hard to concentrate on anything that’s being said. I can only see that..that nasty clogged pore and the desire to make what offends my eye, go far, far away is very strong. IT MUST BE REMOVED and removal is a matter of black or white.
2. People who order literally from the menu. Say for example, we’re in line at Wendy’s. The guy in front of you steps up to the counter and tells Ricky, the 17-year-old Assistant Night Manager that he wants–in no uncertain terms– a “Wendy’s Hot and Juicy with with cheese and throw in a side Wendy’s crisp and tasty French Fries, cooked to a golden brown”.
I also knew a guy who once ordered, “Mom’s Old Fashioned Pot Roast with Generous Slices of Beef with Tender Garden Vegetables in a Rich, Savory Brown Gravy”. Yes, he actually ordered his entre that way. It was as grating as fingernails on a chalkboard or Fran Drescher’s voice at 3 am. Save yourself the embarrassment and order by number or generically and please….please never, ever order “a cola”….especially in Texas, Arkansas, Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, Georgia, part of the Carolinas, most of the Virginias and all of Florida, save for Boca Raton.
3. Large facial moles. I’ve got a few moles myself, but none on my face. And you shouldn’t either. Sorry, if that offends, but I’m being honest. If you’ve a mole on your face that’s so large that even Richard Thomas and Aaron Neville are shaking their heads in disbelief, GO TO A DERMATOLOGIST… NOW! Nothing…I repeat…nothing protruding from your skin should be large enough to accommodate a Bunny Trail on one of it’s “slopes”.
4. Juicy Lisperers. I know lisping is a real problem. I feel sorry for those with a lisp–I suffered through a few years of it as a child. Many people have had the problem…many still do. In fact, lisping has hampered some of the biggest, roughest toughest “He-Men” around.
If you’re an adult and you lisp, you have my sympathy, but saliva control is a must. I speak from experience.
Karnes City, Texas
My hometown always hosted an annual three day fair. The entire community shut down and as a whole, really got into the celebration that was “Town and Country Days”. Part of the reverie included a traveling carnival replete with a delightful personnel roster comprised of staffers that were–I swear to God–extracted from the seediest underbelly of Hell. In other words, if Hell had a bad neighborhood, these people would not only be residents, they’d also head up the Homeowners Association.
Anyway, a friend and I were wanting to try our hand at the milk bottle toss game. That’s when we saw her: The Lisping Carnival Barker.
She was short, fat..completely oafish. Ugly matted hair was held in place by ancient bobby pins and even older applications of Aqua Net. She was Mephistopheles with a change apron….hairy armpits and what looked like Milk Duds under her fingernails. She was also a mouth breather… her lips never touched each other; and probably didn’t out of protest.
Her teeth…all four of them…looked like an odd melding of molten candy corn and bean dip. It was a gross homage to fall foliage. To make matters worse, a greenish froth appeared in the corners of her mouth when she spoke. It was caking before my eyes.
She was instructing me on the rules of the game when IT happened: she uttered the word “toss” and when she did, all those “s’s” projected a lob of contagion—a salivary salvo, which landed on my bottom lip. It was as if I’d been attacked.
Dreaded carnie germs!!!
I ran from the milk bottle toss game and away from the carnival grounds screaming.
I distinctly remember weeping at one point.
I arrived home, having run/walked the entire way with two fingers grasping my lip in an attempt to immobilize it. In a fit of desperation, I actually dabbed Windex on the spot where the vile carnival slobber landed.
I was OK…no worse for the wear, but something happened in the time that carnie saliva sat on my lip. I think I’m part carnie. Nothing else can explain why I have had this ridiculous, inexplicable connection to the carnival. I have this insane urge to eat Funnel Cake all the time, I have this need to hire ex-cons only and I now measure the height of all prospective lovers with one of these infamous carnival signs—-
Parts of this post have been previously published.