Pet Peeves

I think that everyone has a few things that aggravate them, or drive them batty. These things are things that can make rage bubble up inside of your chest making some sort of monster develop and pulse beneath the skin, waiting to jump out at anyone who just happens to cross your path to be your next victim. Things that irritate you to your core and can make or break your day. Some people have a few of these things, and some people have more than a few.

These things are lovingly called “Pet Peeves”. And I, just so happen, to have BUNCHES of them. But this week it seems as though people have stroked some of these peeves and taken pleasure in seeing me seethe. With me, I find it harder and harder to hide my emotion, especially as I get older ( I am NOT getting started on THAT issue. It is something all together DIFFERENT. And something I will address soon as I am becoming obsessed with it). And I find it more difficult to hold my tongue as I become more chronically sleep deprived and have more intense temper tantrums thrown in public places by both children when I am by myself. So, when a pet peeve becomes engaged, I find it difficult to ignore the feelings they uproot in myself. Sometimes I react, or sometimes they just ruin my day, as I mull over situations that really just irk me to the point where I get so worked up that I am a walking time bomb.

Example: “Sarah, what are we doing for dinner?”

“WHAT do you MEAN WHAT IS for DINNER? You expect me to DO EVERYTHING! Step up to the plate buddy and YOU take ACTION! I can’t even handle this anymore! You’re such a JERK! EXPECTING me to take care of EVERYTHING around here! I AM NOT A SLAVE! I am a WOMAN who DESERVES more than THIS! THAT‘S IT!! I‘M BUYING SOMETHING ON EBAY AND YOU“RE NOT STOPPING ME!” Thus this is what happens when something sits inside of me all day long. It manifests itself as soon as it get it’s chance. Phew.

Here are a couple of things that happened this week off my list (and, believe me, the “pet peeve” list is loooooooooooong. Perhaps I am a bit intolerant.)

1. The Finger Beckon

Someone using the “come hither” finger is the worst. It makes me feel about 5 years old and makes me feel absolutely ridiculous answering the person. You either use the Finger Beckon when discipline a child or seducing a lover. Neither of these were the case with me.

I went to a meeting last week and through a seemingly genuine mix up was unable to get into the place where the meeting was held. Another meeting was taking place, but the other meeting decided to relocate. I didn’t. I was going to tough it out and wait for someone to open up the facility. I should have known this person was a “Finger Beckoner” when I first met her. I got out of my car to let her know that I was going to stay for my meeting and not go with the others.

“Who are you?” She asked. I answered with my name, followed by my family name because that usually gets me further up the ladder of recognition. Kinda like the “golden ticket” in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. “You look a bit fuzzy. Actually, everything is a bit fuzzy.” And she looked over my shoulder to the left. I turned and looked to the left. Ummmmmm..Nothing was there but trees.

“Actually, I’m going to stay here and wait,” I said.

“Okay,” She said and shrugged her shoulders and got into her car. Call me crazy, but if everything is a bit “fuzzy”, should you be driving a car? I mean, that’s a pretty important piece of machinery right there and if you can’t see someone two feet in front of you? That may be a problem.

I walked to the front of the building and up onto the stairs. She pulled her car around and then she did it. She rolled her window down and did the Finger Beckon with her white boney finger. A slow and deliberate beckon. My insides dropped to my feet in disgust. I hate that. The slow beckon. With a white, boney finger. That is something my nightmares are made of.

Of course, being the nice, polite person I am, I went up to the car, mumbling choice words under my breath while sirens of irritation blew like fire trucks in my head. I went up to her window. And I saw it. Her keys. Her keys were attached to her body on one of those spring cords with clips. And the cord was a dirty yellow color. One end was attached to a belt? I think? Although I am almost positive she was wearing elastic waisted pants. And the other end held her keys which were in the ignition.

I have no idea what the heck she told me or said to me. All I remember thinking is “Thank god she has an emergency system. If things should get too “fuzzy”, all she has to do is pull the rip cord and I am sure that something will happen to disengage the car.”

At least we all hope.

2. The Public Ignore

This one really gets me going and drives me crazy. I know a lot of people and a lot of people know me. That tends to happen when you move back to the area where you grew up. After frolicking around to many places, our family ended up right back in the town where I grew up. Was I mortified at first?? Of course! Especially since the last words out of my mouth were “I would NEVER live in THIS town. I am NEVER coming back.” Open mouth insert not only foot, but whole LEG. Did I feel like I should be jumping on one of the school buses with my LL Bean backpack and flute (oh dear god) and head to school? Of course! I would wake up with a start for the first few months back here every time a school bus would pass by my house in the mornings. But moving back was the best thing for my kids. My children get the opportunity to grow up with family all around them, just like I did. And that was such a vital part of my upbringing and an integral part of who I am today (uh-oh..heh heh). If I wasn’t here, I would feel as though I was shortchanging my children. And I see how excited they get with family and it is all worth it. Even the instinct to jump out of bed, check my face for zits and then run (literally..every freaking day..RUNNING..with my flute..oh dear god).

Anyhow, I saw someone I knew at the mall the other night. Not only did I know her, but she was a pretty good friend of mine. I had seen her one other time in public, where I approached her and did the good deed of small talk. I, for one, HATE small talk. It is a genuine waste of time and I find it goes no where, fast. So I usually get to the core of real conversation. Also? I think that since I am a social worker, it was my job to small talk ALL DAY until a person trusts..Then you move in to address the issues. So. Yes. I am a professional small talker, but I loathe it in my personal life. But if I see someone whom I haven’t seen in a long time, I have to small talk or I have nothing and then I seem like I have no brain (seeming in one thing..knowing, well, that’s another).

So I preformed an experiment. I did not approach this person. We were in the SAME store at the mall. And we MADE EYE CONTACT. See? Last time this happened? I was Little Miss Friendly and Sparkly (sparkly because I was playing in the glitter eyeliner at Sephora). I bounced over to her and was happy to see her. Heck I hadn’t seen her in about 10 years! This time? I waited to see what she would do. You know what she did? NOTHING. I repeat. NOTHING. She ignored me. Like a DOG.

Again, I seethed. What the heck is wrong with me? I mean, it’s not like I carrying a flute anymore, right? I’m freaking carrying Coach and wearing the hottest stilettos ever. Gimme a break. I couldn’t even believe it. Whatever. No more Little Miss Friendly and Amazing Lashes (I was playing in the mascara, yet again). I was Mrs. Pissy Pants. I left the store and sought out retail therapy. The only thing that could fix this situation.

Shoes. I went into one of my favorite shoe stores. And you know what? It totally worked. I know it sounds shallow (whatever). The music pumping, thumping inside my chest..The patent flashing..Heels yelling my name to dance with them. Hey, Mr. Boots over there wants to buy me a drink. Hellooooooooo, Mr. Boots. Perfect zipper up his side and the perfect size heel for everyday winter wear. . Not to mention the cutest stitching design around the toe area. Yes, Mr. Boots. I am seduced, you and your black leather smell.

(sound of record screeching and music stops)

She walks into my store!! On my turf! I thought we were going to have some serious problems. I was going to have to go all gangster. Whip out my five inch stiletto and take my Charlie’s Angel stance. But no…I guess I’m too scary. She saw me. And left. I think I’m either too scary or too intimidating without my flute.