little white truths

I've mentioned before that, as a writer, one of your tasks is to observe. That includes observing your own behaviour and perhaps finding some good/bad/neutral traits that you can use for your characters, or even finding some common humanisms that others will recognise and relate to. As humans we like knowing we’re not the only ones who do weird things.

I’ve made a list below of some things that make us human, including quirks and gripes. (Some of my friends will have seen a few of these before on Facebook – apologies if so. Another task as a writer is learning how to recycle material so you can get the best mileage out of it hehe.)

The list

I’m the kind of person who will never bring the groceries in from the car in two trips. I will get the bastards in one, goddamn it – even if this results in personal injury.

I really hate things that beep at me to remind me they’re there – the microwave (no, I haven’t forgotten my soup), the dishwasher and washing machine (yes, I know you’re done – I just wanna finish this sentence). Gen Y Whitegoods, I’m calling them. Wish you could turn bits of them off.

No one looks glamourous when running for a tram.

My husband often cooks something for himself and keeps it in the fridge. Even though I’m of course welcome to eat some, I prefer to do this in secret when he’s out, nibbling away at the edges so he won’t know I’ve been eating it. Consumption by stealth. This makes me feel like a spy. I love it.

Life will be the death of me.

When going into public bathrooms I’ve used before, I always return to the same cubicle. Because it worked the first time and is therefore superior. The others remain suspect.

I fill my coffee/tea mug right up to the brim each time I use it. And ninety per cent of the time I spill some and have to clean it up. I don’t know why I do this.

Eighty-five per cent of women can’t walk in high heels, and yet persist in wearing them to the office. How can you expect to be taken seriously if you can’t walk properly? The mind boggles.

Everyone’s elbows do wees in the shower.

I only buy clothes that don’t require ironing. Enough said.

Nothing makes you feel like a bigger a*sehole than eating a big, fat, juicy steak in front of a dog.

I hate people who lick their fingers before turning pages, particularly when it’s completely unnecessary, and particularly when they’re reading a communal newspaper that I’m planning to read when they b*gger off from this cafe. Boo.

You know that thing when you accidentally turn the tap on too hard and the water recoils from the bottom of the sink and sprays all over you? Well, I’ve done that three times today. Three different sinks. Superb.

A world covered in crisp white snow is sublimely beautiful. For about two seconds. After that it’s just freezing.

When having dinner in front of a film, I can’t take the first bite until the film is playing and the credits are over. Because starting to eat before the actual film is just plain wrong.

Why do I continually persist in painting my nails and then doing things like opening a can of tuna? Why do I expect a different result when finger meets ring pull? And why do I always get 564 itchy spots as soon as I’ve painted them? And haven’t I learned yet to go to the bathroom before said painting? Indeed, why do I paint them at all?

I’m one of those water-conscious people. We have a water-saver shower head and I really do have four minute showers. Except in hotels. In hotels I shower for at least half an hour. Because hotel water doesn’t count.