Barely justified table flippers.
My prompt for the writing buddy this week: Write a haiku about the last three years. Read it here, but be prepared to breathe a little easier when you’re done.
Her prompt for me: Itemize how petty you are.
Oh, wait. *shuffles papers* Here it is.
Write a list of your most ridiculous pet peeves. In other words, barely justified reasons for me to flip a table mid-conversation.
In ascending order from something that’ll get you the stank face all the way to what would prompt a friendly proposal to a round of shirtless slap-boxing behind an abandoned Denny’s at 3 AM:
Seeing a guy go out of his way to not hold anything for his lady. I get it. It’s 2023. People are redefining relationship dynamics for themselves and what works for them. I know absolutely nothing about a couple at first glance. However, when I see an irritated woman struggling to manage a baby carrier, her purse, and an incoming phone call, yet her partner is all la-di-da with an iced coffee, I have to take a deep breath. This one is my warmup pet peeve because I feel it’s only ridiculous in the sense that their relationship is none of my business. Nonetheless, yuck.
Doctors prescribing rest from the gym when I come to them for gym injuries. How dare you give me the most sensical and straightforward solution to continue doing something I love in the long term which essentially boils down to “If it hurts when you do that, then stop doing that.” The nerve. Yes, my rib is out of place again. No, I don’t need to take a week off. Matter of fact, how soon can I lift after this flu shot?
Judging me for using utensils with finger food. Yes, I’m taking a knife and fork to this jelly-filled donut. I’m cute. I’m dainty. I’m sophisticated. I know I look weird and your fixation on the only person slicing into a cookie with silverware is perfectly reasonable. Regardless, mind your business. You’re not allowed to argue with me about this. I’m a princess.
That damned Antisocial Social Club hoodie. After learning that antisocial is a clinical term for sociopathy, my soul and taste in style recoil when I see one of those in public. There’s nothing wrong with someone displaying their introversion in a cute way, but that one makes me cringe. Sorry, mini Patrick Batemans. I feel like the next iteration of this is gonna be a hoodie with Ryan Gosling’s face and a caption that reads “Literally me.”
A workout buddy not believing me when I say a certain machine at the gym is measured in metric kilograms instead of imperial pounds, especially after I pull up the model number on Google, show him the downloadable product manual mid-workout, then bet in terms of “If I’m right, you owe me nothing, and if you’re right, your Chipotle is on me. You literally have nothing to lose.” We’ve been lifting for years and you think 50 POUNDS would be giving our triceps this much grief? Absolutely not. Yes, I’m talking to you, YOU. I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN.
Tech-bloat in science fiction. “Crazy Legs! Quick! Grab me a Thingamajig Model BF-24601 so I can fix the McGuffin!” Nonsensical implications of technology ruin science fiction for me. You could’ve stopped at Model BF-2 and the immersion would still be intact. I’d hear that and go “Oh cool, something they’ve been working on probably starts with a B and it’s their second try at a working prototype,” but to slap on a bunch of extra numbers? I just know one of the writers rolled a finger across the keyboard and said “Yeah, that sounds science fiction enough.” When a character parks their intergalactic spaceship at the space mechanic’s shop and goes “I need a new engine. The McSpeedy Model P-314159 should do the job,” my eyes roll into the back of my head so far that I can see my next thought, I can see what I had for lunch three years ago. It’s difficult for me to enjoy the Iron Man movies because I groan in annoyance when I see that closeup of Robert Downey Jr. inside the suit and he’s looking so intently around the Jarvis interface that’s tracking enough vitals and functions to eat up the whole screen. I have a feeling if I zoomed in, there’s a chance that it’s a bunch of cyber gibberish.
Unhelpful idioms. If your life lesson is summarized by a handful of words that force me to think super hard to make sense of it only for me to realize how unhelpful or impractical it is, I’ll fly into a blind rage. For example: “When you’re right, you’re right.” That is possibly the most useless phrase in all human history. Yes, I understand its purpose is to acknowledge someone finally being correct perhaps even to someone’s chagrin. No, I don’t think it’s practical. Do you know what you could say instead? YOU COULD SAY “YOU’RE RIGHT,” AND STOP THERE. All I hear when someone says “When you’re right, you’re right,” is “When it’s three o’clock, it’s three o’clock.” Thanks, pal. THANKS. I’m unfathomably enlightened after this ever-clairvoyant insight into life. A far better phrase is “A broken clock is right twice a day.” It’s factually correct, provides a visual, lacks pointless repetition, and precisely condenses a virtue of life into a short saying. Saying “When you’re right, you’re right,” simply translates to “Hey Maxine, pistols at dawn!” When I tried to explain “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” to my mom, who’s a first-generation immigrant, she looked at me like I just said the dumbest thing. She goes “…Duh. Who says that?” I said, "Well, it’s a thing people say.” She blankly stares and says, “Why?” My world shattered. I realized at that moment, I was being the “When you’re right, you’re right,” guy.
This has surprisingly been a fun exercise in not taking myself too seriously. Some pet peeves reveal what’s truly annoying about day-to-day life, and some others reveal that you need a hug, a scoop of cookies and creme, and a nap.
That being said, only Not-Maxine accepts this lighthearted level of self-awareness. Maxine remains 100% annoyed and justified.