Saturday, June 30, 2007


I hate the sound of mastication. That's right, I broke out the big words for this entry.

Main Entry: mas·ti·cate
Function: verb
Pronunciation: 'mas-t&-"kAt
Inflected Form(s): -cat·ed ; -cat·ing
Etymology: Late Latin masticatus, past participle of masticare, from Greek mastichan to gnash the teeth; akin to Greek masasthai to chew -- more at MANDIBLE
transitive senses
1 : to grind or crush (food) with or as if with the teeth in preparation for swallowing : CHEW

Ok.. so I hate the sound of chewing. Any chewing. Even chewing with your mouth closed does not necessarily drown out the sound of mastication. Gary's a particularly loud chewer. Even with his mouth closed. Though he has a gross habit of opening his mouth from time to time as he is chewing. His table manners are fairly good, but could definitely use some polishing. I'm rather anal about table manners.

I'm nervous by nature (see my post below). Then add to the fact I'm PMSing (see below), I'm switching meds and just the fact that I'm a bitch by nature and the following situation about made me come unglued:

I'm working on getting the house cleaned. We are going out of town for two days on Monday. I haven't had the gumption to clean for a few weeks. The house is by no means disgusting, but it needs a good cleaning. Gary is not helpful in cleaning. Mainly because I have to really watch what he does and double-check to make sure he does it right. I don't like how he cleans. So, it's easier to do it myself. No problem. The problem arose when I'm busily trying to Swiffer the dining area. Have I mentioned how I hate the gross tile on my floor? Think about the cheapest, ugliest tile the government could obtain, and that's what I have. There I am, Swiffering my little heart out, and Gary comes out to tell me all about his video game. I show the appropriate amount of interest as I continue to clean. He follows me around (something he knows I hate, not to mention I'm cleaning an area roughly 6 feet by 10 feet, I do not need him to follow me). As he's following me, he's eating from a bowl of popcorn. POPCORN. Could there be a louder food? Possibly, but not one that Gary eats. As he follows me, he's eating his popcorn. I tell him it'd be helpful if he would stand in the doorway between the hall and the front of my house. He does, AND PICKS UP THE PACE AND INTENSITY OF HIS POPCORN MASTICATION. Finally, I tell him to please go eat his popcorn in the office. He gets hurt and says "I'll just put it up." GOD. Why do you make me feel like an ass? He knows how I feel about chewing. I seriously do everything I can to avoid sitting by him when we eat. I know that sounds mean, but he doesn't know I do this. I don't rag him about his manners. I try to not say mean things. But eating popcorn and following me as you chew when you KNOW that following me gets on my nerves and eating popcorn is a no-no. UGH UGH UGH. THEN, THEN, he goes skulking back to give Gunner a bath before Gary leaves to go see the premier of "The Transformers." I don't mind that he's going out with out me. It's a movie I have absolutely no interest in seeing. I don't mind that I'll be left alone with Gunner. I just mind that he puts everything off. EVERYTHING. Oh and then, THEN, when he gets home, I'll have to hear about the movie that I have no interest in seeing. I'll feign interest. I'll even ask follow up questions. I won't, however, allow him ti eat any fucking popcorn.

I do love my husband. Really I do. But must he eat? :)

1 comment:

More than a mom said...

Ewwww...your husband masticates.


You know I feel ya.