We all have our odd quirks. Some may suffer from obsessive compulsive disorder–and that isn’t funny, or odd–it must be frustrating. In fact, I have been told I have obsessive tendencies. Well duh. Negative thoughts or berating oneself, in my non-professional opinion, are obsessive. I would say it is obsessive compulsive but I have only been diagnosed with obsessive tendencies.
Anyway, when I was a youngster with my own job, each payday I would buy something for my, when-I-reach-18-and-move-out, place. I would squirrel the items away until that day came. I had a lovely collection of late 1970s artifacts, one of which included a set of dinnerware (knives, forks, spoons….)
Much of my 1970s stuff has gone by the wayside. I’m not sure where it went but I have bits and pieces of my original purchases.
Of my dinnerware, I have two forks left. They are my forks. They do not go into the dishwasher because, well…..I only have two and I have to hand wash for the next use. I can’t wait until the dishwasher is full enough for a cycle, I would have to wait through too many meals for a clean fork.
Weird quirk, right?
My kids and husband know not to use my forks. My two perfect forks that can stab a pea or a piece of lettuce. Pasta doesn’t have a chance against my forks.
Then someone shares dinner with us and I have to hide my forks so that they don’t use them. Or, friends of the vampire in the basement come over and they pack their fuel to the basement on my dishes and don’t return them until lovely science experiments have covered the beauty of my chipped dishes. The worst personal horror is when they pilfer my forks and they are stuck inside the science experiments.
Well now, I have no wrap-it-up ending except to say that I embrace my quirks. It’s what makes me, me. If the horror of someone else using my forks is another diagnosed mental disorder, then so be it.
They’re mine! All mine!