Nausea, suffering, perversion, calamity
Nausea, suffering, perversion, calamity
We sat on the couch, Justin on the end sitting up and me at the head of the couch, legs stretched out and feet resting on Justin's lap. I wiggle my feet. Bat my eyes. The signal. He notices and begins to rub my feet.
Now, up until a few months ago, I have never, ever let anyone touch my feet. I hate feet the way some people hate anchovies or flavored coffee. But it just so happened that some time over the summer, Justin forcibly made me experience what a foot rub was like. To think what I had been missing this whole time because I had this revulsion to feet! A foot massage is the most glorious, stimulating orgasmic feeling in the world. Besides earth-shattering orgasms of course. So that's how it came to be that I willingly let go of the "don't touch my feet" rule.
But I am still turned off by feet. Just not my own. So as we sat on the couch last night and he finished rubbing my feet, I sat up. He decided to stretch out and his right foot inadvertently touched my thigh. I immediately broke out in hives. Well, not really, but it felt like it. He withdrew his foot in a panic, realizing what he had done. He broke the rule. His feet, nobody's feet for that matter, can touch mine above the knee. He can play footsies with me under the table and he can rub his foot against my calf while we're in bed, but feet above the knee is an absolute faux pas in my book.
Which all led Justin to remark, not for the first time "I need a rule book to keep up with your weird quirks." And as always when he says that, he began to recite a list of odd things about me that keep him guessing as to whether he can behave in a certain way or not, and I took to defending myself. I told him that I would write that rule book. I would gladly give him a list of dos and donts for keeping me from cringing and we would all be happy. Which only led to a further discussion about those very things, and no book or rule list was ever written. But we did come up with a definitive list of idiosyncrasies that Justin swears puts me in the category of "needs help." Judge for yourself.
The feet thing.
The rubbing of two specific fabrics or materials together. Towel on towel. Sweater on a rug. Broom on a rug. Felt on anything. It all gives me chills and makes my skin crawl. Just thinking about makes me clench my teeth. Oh, and teeth. If you ever put a towel in your mouth in front of me, if any kind of fabric at all touches your teeth or tongue in my presence, I will run from the room screaming.
Seating arrangements. When we go to a restaurant, I have to walk around the table first to see which chair best suits me. If we are given a booth, I have to stand there for about 30 seconds while I decide where to sit. Sometimes I choose the wrong seat, I will get a bad vibe as soon as I sit down. I then make everyone get up and switch seats so I can find one where I am mentally comfortable.
My stuff. Don't move it. Don't ever ever move anything of mine. I don't care if you are cleaning or dusting or searching for buried treasure. Do not touch anything I have left out in the open. That magazine is there for a reason and that cup is there for a reason and those toys are arranged that way for a reason. Touching anything that you do not have express written consent to move will result in pain.
The dishwasher. Don't bother trying to load my dishwasher for me. I will only take everything out and do it again. The right way.
lights. I cannot sleep in total darkness. There must be some light on somewhere in the house. Even if it's just a night light that I can barely detect. I just need to know it's there. This might seem normal to you, even ok, but I take it just a bit farther. I project my fear of the dark onto everyone else. When we go out, I have to leave a light on in the kids room for the frogs. I'm not kidding.
Physical sensitivity. I have sensitive skin. Don't poke me or prod me when you are talking to me. I have such a low tolerance for pain that a slight poke in my shoulder with your pointy finger will leave me with a black and blue. I am also very sensitive to cold. Don't come near me with a cold can of soda or ice cubes or anything that may accidently brush up against me and cause me to recoil in horror. And while we are talking about physical things, I am not a touchy feely person. Don't pat me on the back or touch my hair or hug me when it is apparent I do not want a hug. Also, if the signs are evident that I am PMS, don't make any attempts whatsoever to get within a foot of me. Touch me and I will take a swing at you (Justin has immunity to this rule).
eating. I do not drink any fluids at all with my meals. I wait until after. It's just some kind of strange habit I have had since childhood. I can't eat and drink at the same time. And I won't drink anything carbonated, either. It's water or iced tea, to be drank after my dinner is completely finished. The other thing about food is I never finish anything. I will leave one tiny crumb or piece of everything on my plate. I will leave at least one chip in a bag, one sip of coffee in a cup, one little bite of a donut. Don't ask why. I don't know.
Control. I will not give it up. I will not let go. Once I have control of something you will have to pry it from my cold, dead hands. This pertains to intellectual property as well as physical. If I say I am making dinner, do not come into the kitchen and make suggestions as I am cooking. If I am driving, do not give me directions or suggestions or use that imaginary brake that all my passengers insist is there. If I have the remote, do not attempt to come near me or even make a suggestion that I change the channel. You will die. If I have an idea or am starting a project, don't attempt to come swooping in with your ideas that will make my idea or project more workable. I don't care if it will make my life easier. I thank you for your suggestion, but back off, buddy.
And then there's the little things that people have a problem with that I don't. Let's go over the list quickly, ok?
Yes, I have to pee almost hourly. I can't help it, stop making fun of it. Yes, I wear black every day. All black. Don't buy me pink shirts for my birthday. I won't wear them. Don't suggest a day of shopping together, the kind of day where you will point out all the brightly colored clothes and remark how wonderful they would look on me. Not gonna happen. Don't assume my choice of wardrobe reflects my life. It does not. Just because you wear green shirts and purple pants with your red hair and blue makeup, I do not assume you are a circus clown. Yes, I am extremely confrontational with complete strangers but not with my family. This has been pointed out to me many times and I do not consider this a quirk. It's called self-preservation. The sound of chairs scraping across a floor will drive me nuts. I cannot stand to have more than one noise going on at the same time. I get up at 4:30 a.m. I hate pets. I don't look people in the eye when I talk to them. I feel every milk container before I pick one out to buy because I think that if the container feels like its bloated, the milk is bad. I will never use the first or last stall in a public bathroom. I can only sit in the end seat in movie theaters.
Oh, and I tend to run on and on and on, not really knowing when or how to end a thought.