quirks

shoe business. After giving to charity perhaps 30 pairs of shoes*, I still have perhaps 15 pairs left. How many do I wear? Two: a pair of leather sandals in the summer (and around the house year-round), and a pair of tall boots in cold weather. In my defense, that’s partly due to an injury sustained in an accident early this year: I cannot wear heels above an inch these days.

*These were crazy rich-lady shoes, too, expensive and fragile and stylish and about 20 years out of date. There’s a story there for another time.

junking junk mail. When I receive junk mail with a prepaid return envelope, I circle my address on the return form and write in big block letters PLEASE REMOVE MY NAME AND ADDRESS FROM YOUR MAILING LIST. THANK YOU!, then carefully fold the entire mailing, including the original envelope, jam it into the prepaid envelope, and mail it off. I don’t know if it works, but it’s quite satisfying.

click. When I ask if you mind having the overhead light off (and I will ask, since I dislike the overhead light) or, more rarely, when I ask if you mind the overhead light on (which means I’m beading with teeny tiny beads or sewing or trying to find my black shirt among a pile of black laundry), I ask by saying “Click?” as I reach toward the light pull.

blocked rage. If you leave your grocery cart blocking the center of the aisle, if you pull your car into the crosswalk while waiting for the light to change, if you jump onto the bus the moment the doors open without waiting for standing passengers to disembark, if you enter the elevator and stand blocking the doors, if you and your gaggle of friends choose the spot in front of the escalator/ the library doorway/ the video drop/ the classroom door to stand around with your dogs and your strollers and your lattes while you catch up, you fill my field of vision with a pulpy red haze of rage. Also, if you have more than two items over the limit in the express lane, I loathe you, scofflaw.

queue. On the other hand, if I’m in line at the library with a lot of books or at the market with a number of items, and you’re standing behind me with just one or two (or you’re behind me with a mess of things but also with a child who is noticeably melting down), I’ll wave you ahead almost every time. If you then gum up the works by not having your library card or whatever, well, see above.

I am participating in NaBloPoMo.

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