Pet Peves

I will be the first to admit that I can be a bit picky from time to time about certain things....like how the laundry gets folded or how the dishwasher gets loaded for instance. The Queen says I'm "anal retentive" about such things. I always remind her that I poo quite well thank you very much. I just tend to be rather set in my ways when it comes to menial tasks, and it's not like I try to force others to do things my way. If you want to help out (as my mother in law is want to do from time to time) and fold the laundry the way you've done it your entire life, I will gladly thank you for your efforts, take the stack into the bedroom and quietly refold it my way.

Ditto for loading the dishwasher. If you happen to prefer a haphazard approach, fine. I will simply come in and adjust things to my liking when you aren't around. Simple. No hard feelings. Everyone is happy. 

There are, however, some things that I cannot overlook. Take, for instance, refrigerator manners. Here again, I admit to being a tad set in my ways. The Queen and I have a pretty basic larder that I replenish with regular shopping trips. Everything is fine and dandy as long as we don't get too many unannounced and unplanned for visitors. I know what's in the fridge because I stocked it, I cook the meals, and I stash the leftovers. If I'm in the mood for a snack, I know more or less how much of what I've got to work with.

Until the aforementioned unannounced and unplanned for visitors arrive. Such as my oldest niece. She is a wonderfully sweet girl (who needs to post something to her blog) who is in her first year of college after graduating from high school a year early. She also is sharing an apartment with a friend. An apartment where she gets bored from time to time. So, she comes to visit Auntie Queen and Uncle Shepherd. For several days at a time. Which is fine in and of itself.

Now, before I go much further, I really must disclaim any ill will towards niece Juju as The Queen and I do enjoy her company. I just have a bone to pick with her fridge manners. I've already addressed this with her directly. So, rest assured, I'm not talking about her behind her back. 

You see, my niece - who freely admits to being a moocher, is a grazer. She will open up the fridge and spot a likely item for noshing and go to town. This is not the problem. I don't mind her eating a half pound of deli roast beef at a sitting or the left over spaghetti.

I mind her putting one, solitary, forlorn slice of roast beast back into the fridge all by its lonesome  (which she adamantly denies and blames on my father in law) or just a tablespoon sized dollop of spaghetti sauce (which she freely admits to). 

Seriously. What am I supposed to do with a half shredded piece of deli meat or a spoon full of cold spaghetti sauce? The LAST half shredded piece of deli meat and dollop of sauce I might add. It's not enough for a sandwich or a saucer sized portion of noodles much less a plate full. They won't even dull a mouse's appetite as a snack. The dogs would love to have a bit of beast or spot of sauce, but I can't give one a taste and not the others. Splitting it all up into thirds, and they just look at me like "Where's the rest, dad?"

Juju and I have had a little set to about this a couple of times now. She will take what she wants from the fridge (which is fine) and put back the rest...no matter how minuscule that amount may be (not fine). I've asked why she just couldn't eat that last little bit of whatever. Her responses so far: "I was full" and "I didn't want it." 

"I was full" I can understand; but, trust me on this, that last little speck of roast isn't going to make you explode like the fat man from Monty Python. However, "I didn't want it" is not something I can really grasp. You mean to tell me that the other 3/4 of a pound was scrumptious, but that last .00001 of an ounce just turns your stomach? I don't get it. 

Anyway, I told you that to tell you this. I have to admit that Juju has been outdone.

We had a guest over the weekend who traveled in from Houston to spend the weekend for the purposes of wooing a lady friend. Or at the very least spending time with said lady friend as he's not really sure he wants to pursue the wooing any further. It's all very confusing. He's a really nice guy, and The Queen and I enjoy his company when he's here (since we don't get to Houston much anymore).

So, this morning, our friend got up early to hit the road back to H town. He fixed himself a bowl of cereal for breakfast since he's been here more than once and knows where everything is. That, and it was before my wake up time to make him breakfast. So, when I do make it into the kitchen this morning to make myself a bowl of cereal, I find this:

...in the fridge. There might be a half an ounce worth of milk in the bottom of that bottle. 

I will give our friend the benefit of the doubt here and assume that he didn't know where we wanted empties put, whether we recycle or not, that sort of thing; but, for the love of all that is holy, just finish off that last drop of milk.