I, for one, know I’m a very complex being. There are many things that irk and irritate me, and some, I can’t even explain why.
For instance, I dislike any part of a person (arm, wrist, etc) passing, or going over, my food or drink. Also, take a bite of my food, or take a sip of my anything, and don’t bother giving it back; it’s yours.
I feel if you’ve worked up a sweat, in any which way, you should not feel it necessary to hug me. If we’re not equally sweaty, please stay in your lane. I have showered.
If you and your toothbrush are fighting, I don’t want to be the referee. Please do not feel the need to have a close range conversation with me. That is a different kind of abuse my nose does not appreciate.
I am that person who believes very much in designated seating. At home, we have designated seats at our dining table, and I have ONE couch I designate for myself in our living room. It is an unspoken rule that no one is allowed on that couch. Why? I am very particular. I, myself, do not even sit on it with outside clothes. What are “outside” clothes? Any piece of attire that has followed me outside to my car, the mailbox, to a store, or seen the inside of a car…if it has left the walls of our house, it cannot go on my couch. I adhere to that self-imposed rule, and because others don’t care enough, I reserve that one couch for myself and do not sit anywhere else, so as not to be inconsiderate and take up space someone else needs.
I dislike people taking their shoes (of any kind) from outside to my carpet. Please remove your shoes at the door. I am not interested in having you track the pigeon poop you somehow picked up from outside onto the carpet my children sit and do flips on. Please do not be offended by my request for you remove your shoes upon entry to our home. It’s a simple request, so we don’t become one with, or inhale, all the rubbish that makes its way onto your shoes during the course of the day.
Ugh! Children who call me by my first name. I’m old school: we are not mates nor friends; I’m Miss Esther, or Mrs Zufelt, to you.
There are so many more, but another thing is that I enjoy time with people I care for, to any degree. I am not big on receiving gifts, as my love languages are acts of service and quality time. I’m the cheapest date anyone will ever have. I am not big on money, neither is there anything “I’ve just gotta have”. I’m very simple, despite my other idiosyncrasies, which is why it hurts if someone accuses me of being their friend, or wanting them around, for what I can get from them. When I want to help, or show someone a better way, and I am accused of wanting to pad my pockets…that person has no idea of who I am, nor do they understand my heart.
Much of who I am is birthed from things that have occurred in my life that I would not change for anything. The many tears, heartbreaks, “why me God”, etc have made me the unique individual I am. It takes me a lot of time to feel comfortable enough to be my true self, not because I want, or like to pretend, to be someone else. Having been judged and misunderstood for many years, a thick wall that takes time to break down exists.
Call me a weirdo. Call me “special”. The truth is I’m a little abnormal, and I’m very okay with it. We’re all beautiful things.
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