Love:
* The way our little birdy chirps when I cover her for the night. She sounds just like a little cricket. They are the sweetest chirps I’ve ever heard. Sometimes instead of her name, Yoda, I call her Little Grasshopper.
* How our coat closet smells, because that’swhere we store our thousands of co-mingled candles. Our coats smell like co-mingled candles. It’s a good smell.
* Our dishwasher. I enjoy washing dishes by hand on occasion, but I marvel at how clean all of the dishes get in the dishwasher, no matter where I stack ’em in there. Even way back there turned to the side, it still finds it and gets it clean. It really is an amazing invention.
Loathe:
*When people put ads on my car — under my windshield wipers or tucked into the weather stripping on my side window. The rule is simple: Don’t touch my car.
*Sometimes I think “adults” are really just a bunch of people with grade school maturity levels minus the youthful “cute” to distract from our juvenile behavior. We just wield bigger, more expensive toys, larger vocabularies and more emotional baggage.
*Hiccups.
One Last Thing:
One day a couple weeks ago, I returned to work from my lunch errands early and decided to sit in my car in the parking lot and read my mail. One of my co-workers pulled up and parked next to me and made a couple smarty remarks and as he opened his door, it accidentally swung open too far and it hit my car. It hit hard enough that it made my car bounce a little bit and it sounded terrible. I cringed, expecting a dent. He cringed as well and leaned over to inspect where it had hit and said in a wondrous voice, “There’s no dent!”
I inspected it when I went inside and he was correct, there was no dent.
Over the seven years that I’ve owned my car, it seems that as small as it is, people go out of their way to park too close, even to “share” my parking spot with me because my car clearly doesn’t need the entire spot its parked in. Or at least that’s what their parking style tells me. As a result, my car has suffered numerous door dents down its sides and I’ve spent at least $200 on dent removal services. All this time I just figured my car was easily dentable. But now, not anymore. Because as hard as my co-worker’s car door hit my car (I felt it!), the people who actually left dents in my car must have just beat the crap out of it.
People really can be something else, can’t they?