It's odd and unnatural, but true. Some things just make my eyes bleed...
I politely tolerate all of them in public situations or in polite company, but several things are not allowed in our house.
For instance....
Carrots: Equine candy, icky texture and the go-to vegetable.
I just can't respect a "filler" food. "Hmmm what should I add to this here soup? Oh I don't know...What about a carrot?" Seriously, check it out. Carrots are tossed into everything, willy-nilly and with wild abandon...Soup, stew, pot roast thingys, salads...
Skorts: Be a skirt. Be a short. I don't care, but just commit to one or the other. (Also see: Portabella mushrooms. Do not try to fool me. I KNOW you are not a burger. This same line of thinking goes for sporks as well.) It's wishy-washy and weak. I just can't support it.
Roses: Cookie cutter sentiment, the Hallmark card of flowers and a smell like the feminine product aisle of the CVS.
When we were getting married, our dear Lucy handled the flowers. It went a little like this.
Lucy: What flowers would you like me to use?
Me: "White, with maybe some cream as well. That would be great."
Lucy: "What kind of white flowers?"
Me: "I don't know. What can you get?"
Lucy: "I can get anything. Flowers are growing all over the world, somewhere."
Me: "Well, I don't think we need to fly in something. Pretty much anything is good, other than roses. Please do not have even one rose."
Lucy: "Really? They tend to be less expensive, so you could have loads and loads of roses."
Me: "No thank you. If that is the case, I guess I will just have three."
Lucy: "Three roses?"
Me: "No. No, thank you. No roses. If cost becomes a factor, I'll just have three."
Lucy: "Of what"
Me: "Of anything else in the entire botanical world. I'd rather only have three of something than even one rose."
Lucy: "That's ridiculous."
Me: "Hmmm how about tulips?"
Mariah Carey:
I cannot stand her butterflies and her eight octaves. I don't care that her mother was an opera singer or about any of her teeny weeny dogs. It just seems dishonorable and just wrong that she has more Number 1 songs than Elvis or the Beatles. Her skirts are too short and I don't want to see her boobs. My eyes bled when I happened to catch her episode of Cribs and "walked" through her house filled with fluffy things. I hate the sound of her voice when it talks as well as when it sings. And when I read this morning that she got a tattoo of "Mrs. Cannon" I outwardly retched and inwardly snickered.
But as with most things that I abhor, there is usually one small exception.*
Often, there is one tiny little detail or caveat that will get an "abhored thing" into Hus Durel.
For instance....
Carrots: Husband chops carrots into teeny tiny pieces and blends them into his pasta sauces for a lovely earthy flavor.
Mariah Carey: I love one of her songs so much that I listen to it when it is not Christmas. I love that it is cheery and happy and makes me go-go dance against my will. I love it so much I plan to listen to it for most of the day.
Then when Husband arrives, I will play it for him and then we will discuss why he does not have a Mr. Elizabeth tattoo.
Hit play immediately, if not sooner. (You're welcome.)
And another, sweet version...from a sweet movie
And if you're cooler than I am, here's one for you, too...
*Roses have no exception. Not one. I can talk for hours about how much I hate them. But I won't. I may tell you that I am allergic, but it's not true. They make me mad to look at them. If you give one or more of them to me, unfortunately every single one will go into the trash or out the window the minute you are out of sight. And in case you're concerned, we had loads and loads of gorgeous flowers at the hitchin'. And not one rose, anywhere.
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