I eat a lot. And I eat fast. It probably should be called "snarfing" instead of "eating" when I do it. My sister does this as well. We both blame it on high school where we had only 20 minutes for lunch break. "But 20 minutes is an ample amount of time for eating lunch!" you protest. "Yes..." I would respond, "except that we also had to go the the ladies room, visit our locker and get in a full game of HORSE on the basketball court in that amount of time, leaving us about 4.5 minutes in which to eat." You see, I've been multitasking for years.
Where I am going with this is that I eat fast, and am aware of that, but I consciously try to eat in an area that is well outside of the acceptable "personal space bubble" of others. My husband, on the other hand offends me fairly consistently on two levels:
- He has no concept of my personal space bubble and often hovers directly behind me or beside me when I am tasking. Cuddling on the couch is one thing, I'm all for a nice couch cuddle. He chooses close moments for times like: when I am loading the dishwasher, or cleaning the counters, or pretty much doing anything in the kitchen that I just want to complete as quickly as possible. What I don't want to do is ram my skull into his shoulder or chin. What I don't want is to have to slow down so that I don't gore him with a kitchen knife while I am on my way to putting it away. What I don't want to do is get unconsciously irritated and throw an elbow..... whoops. That only happened once. Okay, maybe twice.
- He also eats too close to me. And he is a lip smacker. A loud one. This morning he actually managed to do it twice. The first was hovering over me while I was putting away laundry... in our BEDROOM... slurping up cereal and milk like he was eating it through a straw. I literally ran at him. He picked up on my subtle hint and took his cereal into another room. The second was later in the morning when he was standing waaaaayyy to close to me while shoving a banana in his cake hole. Then I got to hear all the mushy, smacky, squishy, sticky banana versus the tongue noises. I shudder in remembrance. Not only because of my personal feelings about bananas that I shared with you in this post, but also because I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOU EATING!!!! Oh. Mah. Gawd.
In other news, if you ever need to feel tiny, find this man and have your picture taken with him.
|Could I be a bigger dork? Nope.|
Why that would be Ritch Rand, master hatter. He is tiny. Only 6'8". Poor guy. I'll bet he got picked on a lot. Ritch and I go way back. Back to the days when I was young, cute and vibrant and I used to use that charm and sell his custom made cowboy hats. This was one of the parts of my years in retail that I actually enjoyed, because he was awesome to work for (i.e he used to provide me with gambling money and martinis) and his hats are very high quality. You can check out his merchandise (not that merchandise. Sicko. The HATS.) at his website. Cool stuff. Come to think of it, I was trying to sell my husband one of his hats while my husband was trying to figure out how to ask me out. So... it is actually Ritch's fault that I married a lip smacking, space invader. Holy hell. I love it when I can blame others! My work here is done.