Okay, that made me twitch.
Dentist noises and sand noises; sand on feet, sandpaper, digging in sand sweeping up sand. I hate the feel and sound of sand.
Perversely I do love the beach.
Fascinating thread. I had no idea there were so many sounds that bother people so much. (Mine are nails on blackboards, train wheels on curves, and silverware or foil on teeth.)
Oh, and the spoon-on-aluminum-pot thing.
What sets my teeth on edge is the way sound is recorded by a specific microphone. Anything recorded by that mike just sets my teeth on edge. The Irish band The Corrs apparently use it a lot in their recording, so I don’t listen to their music.
You totally nailed one of mine that I had forgotten. I got full tilt shiver reading this.
My ex-mother in law’s voice.
I’m not being sarcastic. She has a shrill, very nasally voice. And if that’s not bad enough she talks at top volume at all times. You can’t tell when she’s mad because she screams every word, all the time.
I guess she never learned about our “indoor voice”.
I’m not alone! sigh of relief
Did you folks ever see the Looney Tunes cartoon when Porky Pig’s dog has a flea biting him, and he’s trying not to scratch because Porky said he’d give the dog a bath if he scratched one more time, and the dog is straining so hard not to scratch that he starts flopping around and turning different colors, including plaid?
When I hear the sound of two pieces of unglazed ceramic grinding against each other in a social situation where I can’t do anything to stop it, that’s what I feel like.
Before Mrs. Chef and I were married, we were filling out our wedding-gift registry and the saleslady was showing us some ceramic kitchen canisters. The underside of the canisters’ lids and the lips of the canisters themselves were unglazed. The saleslady was idly twirling the lid of one of the canisters back and forth while she talked to us about something. I knew she wasn’t doing it on purpose, or even aware she was doing it at all, so i set my jaw and tried to endure it.
Grrr-rr-rr-iiiiiiiiiind.
Grrr-rr-rr-iiiiiiiiiind.
Grrr-rr-rr-iiiiiiiiiind.
Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and with a sudden roaring outburst I said, “STOP that!” The saleslady gave a little yip of terror and let go of the canister lid with a clatter. Mrs. Chef (or Cheffiancee at the time) stared at me for a second like I’d sprouted fangs, and then she turned to the saleslady and calmly said, “I don’t think we’re interested in the ceramic canisters.”
I immediately felt bad for scaring her, but if you grind ceramics in my presence you deserve whatever you get.