Another edition of Oh Bother and more neurotic annoyances of Mondoo.
Dirty Feet: I am so bothered by my feet getting dirty that it has kinda turned into this illogical OCD thing. If I’m wearing sandals and my feet get dirty, or even just feel dirty, it bothers me so much that I have to wash them immediately and especially before bed. I have the same feeling when wearing socks. If they get dirty or even feel dirty, I must change them, even if I only put them on an hour earlier. I realize that this behavior is crazy, I sometimes even laugh as I’m washing my feet or changing my socks, but I still do it anyway and will continue to do so forever.
Raw Chicken: Raw chicken is so gross. It’s slimy and has a smell to it, not a spoiled smell but a raw smell. And raw chicken parts and juices always make the garbage smell the worst. And of course, we purchase chicken in bulk because we’re frugal. You know what that means? We have to individually wrap our raw chicken in order to make defrosting more practical. I hate this. I hate readying the foil and the plastic wrap and the sanitation that needs to occur following the explosion of raw chicken in our kitchen. Come to think of it, all raw meat is gross. Raw meat reminds me that I’m eating an animal and I don’t want to think of that, I just want to think about how delicious meat is.
My neighbor, “Nosey”: “Nosey” isn’t his real name but if for some reason “Nosey” gets a compu-tater (he actually called a computer that last week when he unnecessarily stopped by my house) someday and actually learns how to use it, I don’t want to intentionally make him feel bad. Anyway, at first, I thought “Nosey” was really sweet. He was the only neighbor in our ‘hood who stopped by on moving day and introduced himself. Little did I know that this would mean that he’d stop by our house all the time, try his best to include me in neighborhood gossip, tease me about “women’s work,” and all but ask me in a million different ways how much money my husband makes. I guess that he’s just trying to be friendly, but he bothers me. He bothers me so much that last week when retrieving my mail, he caught sight of me from his lawn. He raised his hand high into the air, waved it, and shouted, “HEY GIRL!” (I think that he calls me girl because he doesn’t know my name, he only knows me as my husband’s wife, you know, as it should be). Trying to avoid an unnecessary 30-minute encounter, I waved, put my head down and walked as quickly as I could without running into my house. I dropped the mail on the table and went to the bathroom. Within minutes, the doorbell rang. Of course, I was busy so I didn’t answer it but part of me knew who it was so I didn’t rush either. The ringing subsided and I now felt safe to exit the bathroom. I peered out the window and sure enough, it was “Nosey” who was now camping out in my driveway. (He had accosted another unsuspecting neighbor passing by in his car. This poor soul was now being held captive by “Nosey” and his ramblings). Fearing his return to my doorstep, I hopped in the shower to avoid a “Nosey” interaction. Later in the day, my husband pulled a “Nosey” of his own and knocked on “Nosey’s” door in hopes of borrowing his lawn mower to tame our yard that hadn’t been mowed in a month. “Nosey,” of course, obliged and even stated that he ventured down to our house today to ask me if he could cut our grass. My husband made me feel bad about this. How could I be bothered by such a nice man who was willing to cut our grass if I had just answered the door? You know how? Because I know for a fact that he wasn’t trying to be nice, I’m sure HE was just BOTHERED by the lack of attention we have showed to our lawn. See, everyone is bothered by something.