Everyone has their little foibles, right? It sounds so quaint to say “foibles” instead of just saying damn, some people are unbelievably anal. Same meaning, different nuance. Foible: cute, adorable, fuzzy, and quirky. Anal: ewwwwwwww.
I am not anal. I have foibles. Tralala!
Several of my foibles converged today. I’m about all foibled out.
Foible Number 1: I pay ON TIME and NOT A PENNY MORE
The quickest way to make my head blow up is to screw with my sense of responsibility regarding money. Let’s say I agree to a direct debit of a monthly amount to cover a bill, and you decide to charge me more than the agreed amount for some reason. Not good. Even if the overage is only a few dollars, I will not rest until I find out WHY and then get you to give that money BACK and tell me that I’m pretty. Dammit. Likewise, if I sit down to pay bills and find that my bank sent my online bill payment a day late and therefore I’ve accrued an actual FINANCE CHARGE on my credit card, the world as I know it will END until I get the credit card company on the phone and get them to agree that this was not my fault and I should not have to pay extra because my bank people are big weenies. It is not so much about being cheap (although I am also cheap) (but I am not easy!) (how many parenthetical comments should I insert here to defend my honor, do you suppose?), but about knowing the WHYs and WHEREFOREs of where my money is going.
Foible Number 2: Skin care is not rocket science
I have learned to bite my tongue in most matters where my ex and I differ on child-rearing. He is, in most ways, a very good father. He loves the kids, and he’s not a stupid person, although he is a very different person (and parent) than I am. Let it go, let it go… that’s my mantra. When it’s not a big deal.
Well, call me crazy, but I am getting really sick of my daughter coming home with bleeding eczema every time she goes to stay with her father. I have given him detailed instructions as well as ointments to use on her and I just fail to understand why he is incapable of tending to her condition in some way other than “Oh, by the way, Chickadee’s skin is looking pretty bad” when he drops them off. I am running out of ways of presenting this to him in a way that he will hear. Because if I say this is unacceptable or negligent, he becomes enraged and insists I look for any reason to put him down, blah blah blah blah.
Knowing that he could look at her skin looking like that and not do everything possible to FIX IT makes me want to hurt him.
Foible Number 3: I want to be a real girl
I recently went to a Party Lite candle party, because it was hosted by a friend of mine who threatened to cry if I didn’t come, and she promised me lots of coffee and treats. So I went. I did not buy anything, but I did drink a lot of coffee. I’m sure you want to invite me to your upcoming sales parties, now. However, I learned more at this party about candles than I ever wanted to know, including the fact that large candles need to be “hugged.” Apparently, candles need love, too.
No, actually, “hugging” the candles after they’ve been burning for a few hours evens out the tops and prevents the “tunnelling” effect that larger candles tend to have. Now, I do have a few jar candles around the house, and I never thought much about them. But since this party I have realized that GOOD HEAVENS I have never hugged my candles! And they are all lopsided and tunnelled! So I have been madly hugging my candles every since, and they refuse to look pretty again despite my efforts, and this only serves to confirm for me that I am not really a girl.
Sure, I have a closetful of shoes, but my candle-hugging skills are lacking. It’s keeping me up at night. And now you know the awful truth.
Foibles Number 4 thru seventy billion:
It’s a little late for the rest of them. Sorry. Another day, maybe.