The Pressure To Be "On"

Most days I don't mind my reputation for being a complete nutjob. Being completely sick in the head sets me apart from all of those normal people out there. I relish feeling distinctive. But there are other days when I just wish I could blend in with the masses. Because sometimes? There's a lot of pressure in being as adorably quirky as I am.

On one of my first dates with Oscar, or should I say "dates" considering that we never really went the traditional "dinner and a movie" route, we went to a grocery store at midnight. I was in search of something healthy to snack on and Taco Bell wasn't going to cut it. So I wandered into the produce section, on the hunt for the perfect apple. As Oscar watched me pore over the red delicious selection, the perplexed look on his face grew more and more pronounced. Finally he asked me...."What are you doing?" Well, clearly, I was checking the points of the apples...the feet of the apples....trying to make sure they weren't soft, because the rest of the apple could be crisp and crunchy, but if the apple points were bruised, it wasn't worth the bother. So I explained all this to Oscar, who looked at me with a bemused, indulgent look on his face, because even after only a handful of dates, he knew he had gotten himself involved with a complete fruitcake, and set about the business of helping me check apple points.

For a while, that was great, but, you know, sometimes when you go to the grocery store, you want to get in and out as quickly as possible. So sometimes the apple points are not as important to you as they might normally be. But when you're known for checking the points....when that's what makes you cute and distinctive...when it's your thing....you can't just run in and pick out the first decent looking apple you find. Because then your husband looks at you with that bemused, indulgent look on his face and convinces you that of course checking the apple points is worth the extra few minutes. And you're stuck wasting time on the apple points when all you really want to do is go home and have a glass of wine.

A similar situation befell us this weekend. We made our special trip up to a farm outside of Prescott to seek out the perfect pumpkin for Halloween. Traditionally, I search the entire patch, poring over each and every damn pumpkin on the ground, and end up picking out at least 3 "perfect" pumpkins, not to mention a dozen or so smaller pumpkins or gourds with which to decorate. It's a long process, and Oscar finds it adorable they way I tromp along, on a serious mission, and turn down several perfectly acceptable pumpkins before settling on the perfect pumpkins. This time around, though, being on the tail end of a cold and dealing with a grumpy two year old who would scream "No WANT cheese!" at me every time I tried to take his picture, I just wanted to pick a, SINGULAR, damn pumpkin and get out of the patch as quickly as humanly possible. Unfortunately, I had made the mistake of telling Oscar what kind of pumpkin I was looking for.

Having a long history of dealing with me at the pumpkin patch, he remained unconvinced that I could ever be satisfied with anything less than the perfect orange gourd. So we clomped along through the field for much longer than was really necessary, trying to find the biggest, roundest, veiniest pumpkin with a stem we could find. And while Oscar did ultimately find me an awesome pumpkin, I really would have been satisfied with the smaller, round, less veiny pumpkin I had seen earlier. But again...the 3 hour long process of locating the perfect pumpkin is one of those things that makes me "Me", so by all means....let's wander aimlessly through the field some more.

I know...I sound ungrateful again, don't I? Seriously, I love that Oscar finds these little quirks of mine "cute" instead of "mind-bogglingly annoying." I'm not trying to look a gift Oscar in the mouth. It's just that sometimes, I wear myself out with my odd behavior. I don't know how he can not only tolerate it, but so cheerfully indulge it on a continual basis. Then again, perhaps this is how he exacts his revenge? He refuses to allow me a moment's respite from my quirks, so that I am made even more aware of what an angel he is for putting up with me? Yeah, I bet that's it. Well, I'm on to him now. No more bonus points for him. And next time we go shopping, he can check the damn apple points if they're so freakin' important. I'll be in the liquor section, stocking up for the evening.