Why can I not remember there is a baby gate in the door between the den and the kitchen? How many times do I have to fly face first over this baby gate before it finally registers that it's not only there now but has been there for a year? Why can I not master the art of reading my Kindle while walking in the house? Just why will that same baby gate not crash down upon contact from both knees of a fully grown human yet my much smaller pug can knock it down with one head butt and go on about her business? Why do I even insist on the damn gate still being there since it obviously doesn't stop the pug for whom it was intended? Is this baby gate filling some deep seated (and for my lovely teacher fan who feels the need to correct me, look this one up, I assure you the correct terminology is not "deep seeded") need I have to be punished? That would explain my reluctance to remove it.
Why do I bother to put coffee in my creamer and sugar? It's not like there is enough coffee to taste or even give a caffeine rush. My friend says I only use the coffee to dissolve the creamer and sugar, you see I don't really like coffee but I love the creamer. People look at you funny if you just drink creamer. So I front and pretend I am a coffee drinker. Is there a special place in this coffee driven world for those of us that openly admit to not liking coffee? Will we someday be forced to wear a scarlet C on our clothing?
Why do I never have a bout with Irritable Bowel Syndrome until I hear the word "go"? Is this word nature's very own laxative? I can be here all day just lounging in my latest cartoon couture pajama's and my ever present snowflake robe and never once feel that twinge. But let someone say "Hey, let's go _________" and upon finishing getting dressed and picking up my car keys will immediately be hit with a severe bout of IBS. Could this be a psychological problem and I have an unconscious desire to make people wait on me? I always admired my ex (and you can be the judge as to what kind of person he turned out to be if this is the only thing I can think of to admire him for) for his ability to "shit on command". It really was amazing to watch. Me: "Kathy and John want us to go out to dinner with them at 5:00" Ex-Louse: "It will have to be at 5:30 because I plan on shitting at 4:45 and we can't possibly make it to the restaurant in 15 minutes " or Me: "You have an appointment tomorrow morning at 8:00" Ex-Louse: "Your going to have to call and reschedule the meeting for a later time, my morning shit is already planned for 7:20, if you had told me sooner I could have planned it around the meeting". But you have to remember this is the same guy who thought that if he didn't do three scheduled shits a day he would either explode or the shit would back up causing him severe brain damage. I have always wondered just which day it was he was off schedule because he obviously has some form of brain damage. Was it my fault? Could it have been the morning I was in that bad car accident and he was called to the hospital or the morning I went into labor and he missed his 7:20? I live with the guilt.
Why do I think I always have to wear socks with jeans/pants and they MUST be put on before I put my jeans/pants on? If I forget and put my pants on first it can cause a total meltdown, I can't then just put my socks on. No, I have to take my pants back off and do it the "proper" way. Could this be signs of early OCD? I have visions of my house catching fire in the middle of the night and all I have time to do is throw my pants on before racing outside to safety. As soon as I am outside I realize what I have done and then have to be held back by four strong fireman (you realize this story could go a whole different direction at this point, don't you?) while fighting to get back inside and screaming "Where are my socks! OMG I have to get back in there and get my socks!" or upon seeing them bringing my son out to safety I scream at them "Oh please, please tell me you got my socks too! For God's sake man lay him down under that tree and get your ass back in there and find my socks!" I need a window sticker, but instead of saying "Pets Inside" or "Children Inside" mine will say "Socks Inside".
Why do I feel an almost uncontrollable desire to commit murder on any man beside me gently snoring yet at the same time find it so endearing when my pug snores and rattles the windows? This one is a no brainer. I simply like pugs better.
Why do I think that everything my Chihuahua or Pug do is so wonderfully cute and make excuses for their bad behavior? I mean if I took one of my children to someone's house and they started circling and sniffing butts I just know in my heart I would not stand there with a silly grin on my face and say "He's just getting to know you", or if one of them dropped a log or peed on someone's floor I would not say "he gets nervous in a new environment". I would never grab one of my children after they just destroyed the TV remote and say in a high pitched demented voice "How could I get mad at that itty bitty squishy wishy wrinkly poo face!". I would draw and quarter that child!
Why do I obsessively record things on my DVR knowing I will never watch them? What satisfaction do I get out of having 27 episodes of Reba reruns recorded and why do I cuss each time I sit down to delete those same 27 episodes that have been on my DVR for months? Then when they are deleted immediately think "Hey, now I have room to record all the Two and a Half men reruns from the last five years!" Knowing I have never seen one single episode of that show and don't intend to start now. I justify this by telling myself that if I am ever in a major industrial accident and lose both arms, both legs and the ability to talk then I will have something to occupy myself with. Never once stopping to rationalize that being "trapped" with Charlie Sheen would make me suicidal which would only compound my problem necessitating the need for heavy medication. Then again, heavy medication would probably make me understand Charlie Sheen, kind of like we would be kindred spirits and share a bond. Winning!!!
Why does a police cruiser pulling up behind me at a stop sign or on the open road turn me into a quivering bowl of jello with thoughts of jail time flying through my addled brain? I have never had a speeding ticket, not even a parking ticket in my entire life. Never been arrested or done anything that could even remotely be considered illegal. Half of my immediate family are lawyers, police officers, FBI agents so it isn't like I fear the badge. It isn't even like I don't know that if I did somehow slip up and go 2 miles over the speed limit that I couldn't get out of that ticket with my connections. I did feel better when my________, the FBI agent, told me he had the same reaction. Seriously dude, they scare the bejeezus out of you too? Do you also have IBS, I mean these could be inherited traits.
Why am I even wondering about these things? I am pretty sure there are some old Friends episodes I could be recording instead.