Monday, March 10, 2008


We all have 'em. Some are more admittable than others. But the wonderful thing about personality quirks is that they're what individualize us. They also make for unique, memorable characters in books -- like Scarlett O'Hara's denial, Hamlet's indecisiveness, or Gus MacCrea's idealism.

But even more interesting, are the little quirks. Quirks that have no deep psychological meaning, but are just there, seemingly for no other reason than to entertain some and irk others.

For instance: My boss hates touching chicken -- especially thighs -- and she won't leave leftovers in her fridge for more than a day.

Child number two has an aversion to pores and hair follicles. She also hates it when I part her hair with a comb. Says it feels like a knife cutting her scalp.

Child number one can't stand kneecaps. She also has mild hypochondria -- any ache or pain and she's dying I tell you. Dying.

I hate the word "spleen" with such a passion I can barely type it. And I won't buy canned soup -- the thought of giant vats of chicken broth make me crazy.

My grandmother wouldn't get out of bed in the morning until she felt stirrings in her bowels. Nevermind that activity actually makes bowels move. Her bowels had to move first.

My grandfather wore a pantyhose cap to bed, over the little hair he had, because he wanted to keep it neat.

Any far out quirks in your family? In you? Come on, spill! It makes us interesting.

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Anonymous Bev Stephans said...

My Dad wore a pantyhose cap in the shower. He claimed it was the only way to keep his cowlick down. No, he didn't wash his hair everyday. He didn't believe in it, but he did wonder why he had so much dandruff. DUH!

I hate lima beans. Not because they taste bad, but because of their texture. They are so mealy that I can't get them past my tongue.

I'm glad that I don't have your canned soup aversion because there are some very good canned soups and I eat them a lot.

My eldest son can't stand little bits of stuff in his food. If celery, onion, green peppers or carrots aren't chopped fine enough so that he can't recognize them, he won't eat it.

That's enough. I could go on and on, but I'll spare you. LOL!

March 10, 2008 10:37 PM  
Blogger Lyn Cash said...

My mother refuses to cross a path that a black cat has crossed for at least an hour. One day when she rode with me, we tried getting home both avenues that led to our house. Same cat both times. We wound up shopping for an hour, and she told me just to hit the damn thing if he was there when we went back.

March 14, 2008 3:36 PM  

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