So Peter is leaving for Arizona on Monday... literally, she is on her way out the door. Naturally she has left me a list of all I am to do while she leaves. So I think I am safe. There she is, I can see the back side of her flapping out that beautiful front door, and then... it happened. Her body began to turn towards me. I tried to hurry and anxiously engage myself in a good cause else where, but I was not quick enough. She turned around. Eff. Her mouth falls open, and she says to me: "Ohhhh yeahhh.... Spring.... I know that you are so busy and that you are moving on Wednesday and don't even have time to sleep because you are a chronic leave it until the last minuter when it comes to these kinds of things... buuuuut can you just.. well, clean out the fridge before you leave?!" You want to know why she waited until half her hiney was literally out the door? Because cleaning the fridge gives me the heebie jeebies. What if there are hot dogs in there from a barbecue I innocently did not attend on the weekend, and they have a set date for rotting before she gets back, then what?! I have to touch the slimy already opened, once brown but now slightly grey, juicy package? What about the pasta that she made for dinner the night before she left? It sat in a beautiful purple glass bowl, lurking in sick mockery. What if there is still egg nog from Christmas that just gradually got pushed further and further back until it was permanently and conveniently hiding behind that twelve gallon bottle of ketchup that was on sale at Costco for six dollars?! *there is no egg nog left in our fridge from Christmas, just to shed any judgments you just shot with disgust at the Pierson family. Anyyyyways. I begrudgingly strap on my bicep high, yellow rubber gloves and beging the hideous task. I'm twitching and jumping about every four and a half seconds, and Gary is dying. He is watching me with an entirely hideous, amused look on his face.
We then proceeded to have a twenty-seven minute long discussion on what gives us the heebie jeebies. There are categories you see.
Don't hate me for saying this, or do, but to every single one of us, a few people fall into the cautionary "heebie jeebie" category.
Then there are the sounds or smells. For my friend it is the fake peach smell. You know, peach flavored things. I will not do her the great injustice of revealing whyyyy this special smell nearly sends her into convulsions, but it just does. For me, it is the sound of ice scraping together. I just twitched writing that even. For Gary and I both, it is the biting of the fork. a;ldjf;aowejr;lkaj;sdlkjf;lkajsd teeth on metal. So nasty. I had a roommate who was a chronic utensil biter and it was a tragic situation.
So there you go. People are people and day old fettucini alfredo is just that, and maybe you and your brain looking pasta make me twitch, but that is that and it is 37 degrees outside. Celsius.
Tying the Knot
1 week ago