It’s The Little Things That Kill
Last night I watched a commercial in which a girl and a guy are dressed up as comic book characters, waiting for a subway train. Their eyes meet from afar and then the girl steps away and heads to Taco Bell for some sort of burrito. But then she opens her hot sauce packet and pours it directly onto the end of her burrito, in the spot she is planning to bite. WHAT. THE. HECK. IS. THAT? Everyone knows she should have opened the tortilla and distributed the hot sauce evenly along the full length of the burrito contents, then re-wrapped the tortilla before taking her first bite. Right, everyone?
This (over)reaction got my thinking. Do I have strong opinions about other things of little consequence? It turns out that I do, and it will be of no surprise to those in my inner circle that there are many. And because there are so many, I feel the need to split this topic into (at least) two blogs. For today’s blog, I have divided my opinions into categories: personal hygiene, whorey things, automobile care and/or driving, and random obsessions that waste my time.
Without further ado, and in no particular order, I bring you Little Things That Kill (Me):
Personal Hygiene
Long finger nails. This is a public health nightmare waiting to happen. When my nails are long, all I think about is the types of germs populating behind them. When my nails are short, it’s very easy to scrub them with a nail brush and feel confident that I am rid of the strep, salmonella, e-col, and/or COVID. I think long nails on other people are pretty. They are just not for me.
Painted finger nails. There is likely no scientific rationale for this opinion. I love the look of nail polish but feel gross when my nails are painted. Occasionally, I forget that I feel this way, and will opt for a manicure before a big event. But then, I spend the duration of the event waiting impatiently to retreat home and remove the polish. I lack the skill to paint my own nails - just one failure of my womanhood - so it is with great certainty that I have paid someone to paint my nails, essentially lighting that $20 on fire.
People touching my face. My skin is extraordinarily sensitive. It takes little more than a stiff breeze to cause a breakout or eczema flare-up. This originally began during a particularly acneic phase in eleventh grade, and has continued into motherhood considering the potential daily hazard of little boy butt fingers clogging up my pores.
Dog hair on clothes. Nelly has white fur with velcro-like properties. We once had to replace an entire couch because it was impossible to keep the tiny white fibers at bay. In the cooler months, I wear almost exclusively grey shirts and sweaters, with an occasional pop of black, brown, or hunter green. Leaving the house with dog hair scattering my dark-colored threads screams “I opted for a once over with baby wipes instead of a shower today!” And considering it’s possible I may actually have opted for a once over, I do not need to draw any attention to it.
Whorey Things
TikTok leggings. According to this source, these leggings “feature a honeycomb-like texture and an indentation on the lower back that simulates a pulled-up thong… with unique ability to transform anyone’s derriere.” To that, I say no. The texture is not the problem, although it seems like a delicate fabric asking to be ripped open with one careless adjustment at Hannaford. My issue is the idea of a simulated, pulled-up thong. Images of booties wearing these leggings show separation of cheeks and a full crack outline. I know what happens in your crack. I don’t need to imagine it happening. Wear something else.
Lash tinting. Let me start by telling you that I love the look of dark lashes but have instead been blessed with a strawberry-blonde version. Mascara has become my best friend, and I am really partial to this magical version from Thrive Causemetics. Before I found this miracle worker, I experimented every so often with lash tinting. I really like how my lashes would look weeks 2-4 after the procedure, but I spent the first seven days post-appointment feeling as if I was in a perpetual walk of shame with last night’s eye makeup smeared down my face.
Toes that hang over the front of open-toe heels. The soles of shoes are designed for feet to walk on them. Toes are part of feet. If your toes are hanging over the front of front of your open-toe heels, your heels are too damn high. Your toes are gripping for purchase on a version of a woman you think you need to be. Do yourself a favor and get some J’s. J’s look good with everything and come with the added bonuses of allowing you to chase down a runaway preschooler with ease or escape a creepy weirdo.
Automobile Care and/or Driving
Keeping the gas tank at 1/4. When I got my license and the hand-me-down Chevy Caprice Classic that solidified my new role as errand girl for my family, my dad stressed the importance of proper vehicle care. One part of his message included the importance of keeping the gas tank at least 1/4 full - especially during the winter months. As an A+ student (of school and of life), I took this very seriously then and continue to do so today. I rarely allow my gas gauge to indicate less than 100 miles to drive. Imagine the disappointment of being married to a man who considers it exciting to see just how long he wait before filling up. I’m still recovering from the time we almost ran out of gas in New Brunswick while waiting in line for border control before crossing into Maine. It’s been 12 years.
Cross country skiers on road trainers. I completely understand the need for a preseason in sports. Athletes need to be whipped into shape before they can compete at a high level. I also understand that it’s tricky for winter sport athletes, like cross country skiers, to train when in a climate where snow may not yet have fallen. However, I find it to be of great inconvenience that this training takes place on the road. The sight of these skiers immediately spikes my anxiety. I am terrified of clipping the tip of a ski with my car and then glancing in my rear view mirror to see a pile of skiers bleeding in the road.
Vanity plates. My parents, brother, and I all had the same initials when I was growing up. KST. Kelly Scott Thomas. Karen Shea Thomas. Kimberly Shea Thomas. Keith Steven Thomas. The license plate on my mom’s car read KST. My “friends” would tease me about it and at the time, it was mortifying, and left me scarred for life. There is literally nothing important enough in my life to warrant its placement on my car.
Random Obsessions That Waste My Time
Tidy handwriting. I like tidy, aesthetically-pleasing handwriting. I like to glance at something I have written and a) be able to read and b) feel joy in response to the artful positioning of my letters. Because of my anal retentive tendencies, my handwriting is mostly as pretty as a picture. But sometimes, I write myself a Post-It reminder and stick it to the refrigerator only to return a few minutes later, aghast at my remedial attempts. The horror! This is a little embarrassing to mention publicly, but I sometimes re-write these notes (or entire grocery lists), even though I am 100% certain I am the only one who reads them.
Clutter. The amount of clutter in my house directly correlates to the amount of clutter in my brain. This phenomenon is more significant when said clutter is on my kitchen counter. I spend an inordinate amount of time picking things up and putting them away. The main reason for my obsession is to tame my anxiety, which is accomplished through physically performing an activity and seeing an immediate result. The secondary reason for my obsession is that I am the keeper of the things. If I don’t know where something is, no one does. Hell hath no fury like a preschooler who can’t find his crane truck, a middle-schooler who can’t find his Lakers hat, or an adult male who swears he placed those notes in his work bag.
As I mentioned above, I have so. many. more. options. to. share. Look for part 2 coming soon. But in the meantime, what strong opinions do you have? Tell me all about them.
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