Pet Peeves

According to Mr. Webster, a pet peeve is a subject of frequent complaint. Now, I don’t want to question Mr. Webster. I’m sure the fellow has been around a little longer than I have and knows more than I do. (I mean, it probably didn’t take him about 15 years to get his book published like it did me, and that book of his has been out quite a while and has returned for numerous reprints and updates.) But even knowing all that, I gotta say I think he’s selling pet peeves short. Either that or he’s lived in a padded room all his life with nothing more to annoy him than his own slowly growing toenails. And considering how boring his book is, that might be true. I mean, do you know anyone who has actually read the whole thing in one sitting?

Now, in my opinion, pet peeves aren’t just “subjects of frequent complaint.” To the contrary, they are things that pick away at our sanity, gnaw away at our last nerve, chew a little on our mental health, and down right just piss us off to no end.

Now, I admit. This may just be my personal opinion, but some pet peeves are justified. Sort of like homicide. I mean, right now there is one former state official, of one certain state, that if his wife decided to pull his plug, and I accidentally found my way onto her jury, I would be hard pressed not to give her TIME.

Wait!

I can see all of you women out there, and a few men, starting to get red around the ears. Hear me out before you pass judgment. I would be hard pressed not to give her time, time as in a couple of months in a nice spa where she would be rewarded and pampered for doing a much-needed service. (I guess you might have figured out that one of my pet peeves is cheaters.)

Anyway, the justified pet peeves generally involve some form of lack of intelligence in other people. Like the math-impaired folks of the world. Now, don’t go overreacting again. I failed algebra too. I’m talking about a specific kind of math impairment, like the kind you find in the grocery store. You know what I mean. It’s when the person in front of you in the twelve-or-less checkout line has enough items in their basket to feed a family of twelve, when all you have is a gallon of quickly melting ice cream. Yeah, that type of math impairment.

Then, there’s the cutters and the cutter sympathizers. By cutters, I mean line cutters, not people with knives. Though, now that I think about it, I don’t care about not-so-nice people with knives, either. (It goes back to the Pizza Hut incident.) And yes, line-cutters includes people in cars, too.

Please! Is it just me, or do you hate the people who zip past you at amazing speeds in the right lane even when the sign clearly says . . . “Right Lane Closed?” I mean, you did the right thing and got in the left lane, but you are moving at a pace that wouldn’t impress a one-legged, elderly snail walking the green mile because someone up the way, (namely . . . the cutter sympathizers) are letting all the cutters in.

Yup, those are what I call justified pet peeves. And then there’s the other kind.

You know where am I’m going, don’t you?

The other pet peeves are just . . . stupid, idiotic things that for no good reason drive us bonkers. Most of us have them, too. And just to prove it, I’m gonna share mine.

I have a big aversion to, meaning I seriously loath . . . lemon seeds. Oh, I love lemon juice. As a matter of fact, I won’t drink water unless it has a good squirt of lemon juice in it. But I will spend a good ten minutes picking out those little slimly seed suckers before I give it the squirt. Hubby used to make a habit of showing me all the seeds in his glass. Of course, he stopped, because I don’t kiss him for a week. And without kisses, I’m not bedroom friendly if you know what I mean.

Okay, my other off-the-wall pet peeve is maybe even a little stranger than the seed aversion. It’s . . . water in my shoes. I love pretty sandals, but I’m down-right phobic about wearing them because . . . what if it rains? (And trust me, living in Houston, just because the sky is clear and blue, doesn’t mean it won’t be raining ten minutes from now.) What if my sandals get wet? You know, those water shoes people wear into the swimming pool and at the beach. I’m pretty sure Satan invented them.

Now, I have no reason why lemon seeds makes me want to toss my cookies, or why I’d rather walk across hot coals than walk in a pair of wet shoes, but that’s the thing about these type of pet peeves. They don’t always make sense, they don’t even have to. They aren’t justified, and for the most part in normal circumstances we wouldn’t share these things, but since when have we at Killer Fiction been normal?

So . . . come on, let’s share all our bizarre pet peeves. Hey, I shared with you.

Crime Scene Christie