I used to get all worked up over getting gas, because my husband drives the car during the week and I drive it on Saturday to get groceries and run other errands.
We use about half a tank of gas a week. Every other week, I’d get into the car and start it up to head off to the grocery store and the needle of the fuel gauge would be on E. This always happened. To reiterate, my husband drives the car six days a week. I drive it for ONE DAY! I do 14% of the driving, but I had to do 100% of the filling. It started to really piss me off. Why did he always leave it for me to do? He does not have such a breakneck schedule that he doesn’t have time to go to the gas station. There are at least three days a week when he could easily fill up the tank in the morning. But he never did and it was making me insane. I’ll admit, I never told him that it was pissing me off. I just fumed while I filled it up (which may be a fire hazard.) But still, did he even notice that he’s been driving for three months and hasn’t put any gas in the car? Did he say thank you once? Did he think that elves were doing it? Did it even once occur to him to fill up the car so I wouldn’t have to? Nooooooo.
Then on one “off” week, I noticed that gas was really cheap, so I filled up despite being on half a tank. I recalled that having the tank at least half-full all the time was really a good safety precaution, y’know, so we didn’t get stuck with almost no gas during an emergency. So the next week, I topped the tank off, too. And since then, I’ve been doing it every week.
But the thing is, I don’t have to do it. I’m not coasting in on fumes, grinding my teeth and sending hate-rays in the general direction of my husband. I’m doing it because I choose to do it. And suddenly it’s not such an awful chore! Ya wanna talk about irrational: I’m going to the gas station twice as often but I resent it less. Weird, huh?
Yours are mine. I don’t mind doing laundry in the least, but don’t ask me to put it away. Except I don’t live alone. It’s okay though, my husband never puts his away either, and I’m sure as hell not going to do it for him.
I also hate the telephone with a passion. It does’t really matter if I’m making or receiving the call. I don’t like long phone conversations. It takes me a while to build up the will just to make a call. And if you’re calling me? Be prepared to leave a message, because once I hear who you are, I will pick up (only if you’re a friend or family member though).
This is the reason why when we planted trees on our humble homestead, they are all coniferous. Mr. Ujest grew up raking leaves every weekend in the fall because his parents live in the Black Forest.
Filling out forms. Especially forms with blanks that are way too small for their intended purpose. GRRRR.
Applying for jobs. Not even talking about the interview - just applying. Making yourself all presentable, going in, introducing yourself, inquiring about the position, actually getting out your resume and passing it to them… and those few agonising seconds where they look it over right in front of you before telling you they’ll get back to you. Augh! It takes about 5 minutes, but I hate it.
Cutting things. I don’t mean veggies (knives are fun!), it’s the scissors I can’t stand. It stems back to cutting and gluing being the only things I ever failed in school (and it happened in kindergarten). The task comes up pretty frequently in my job, so I am VERY happy that I have 5 student assistant darlings to do it for me.
Yes, they know of my irrational hate and they mock me incessently.
I don’t rake leaves, I mow 'em. I paid good money for the fertilizer in those leaves, and I won’t throw it away. However, my locust tree would put out thousands of hard, durable seed pods (imagine a 10-inch lima bean pod, only hard and stiff.) The year I filled 24 lawn and leaf bags with locust pods, I hired somebody to cut it down.
Haha, I used to do that too! I don’t mind filling out forms where I can jokingly write “Mr. Buttcrack” as my name and then throw it away, but if I go into a place that has forms to fill out for job applications or something highly official like that, I invariably screw it up and have to ask for another one. Not the greatest first impression!
I hate going to teacher conferences at school for my daughter. She’s a good student, I just hate going and sitting in that little chair. It makes me feel like I’m back in school, in the principal’s office.
Showering. Waste of time. If it weren’t for my consideration of others, I’d shower only when it got to the point that I thought the smell was actually indicative of mold or bacteria growing on me.
Last time I was unemployed, I went a month without shampooing.
I hate sewing buttons on anything, I just sewed a button on my coat after the first one fell off a year and a half ago, it only took five minutes tops but I grumbled the whole time.
Needlessly long DVD menus and transitions, especialy ones you can’t fast-forward or skip with the skip button. Buffy Season 2 is very guilty of this. The Star Wars movies also make a big transition every time you navigate to a different section.
I just want to watch the frelling movie and special features!
Add to this menus on DVDs that show spoilers for the movie. Phantom Menace even showed Obi vs. Darth Maul in the background of the main menu.
Returning phone calls. Someone leaves me a message, and I just sweat til I call them back. If the phone rings, I’ll answer it pretty fast and if I have to call someone, that’s not a big deal.
But all it takes is for me to have to call someone BACK and it just gets to be a chore.
I have been known to return phone messages by e-mail: 'Hey, it’s Mr Bus Guy, sorry I missed your call, but here’s your answer…"
You wouldn’t if you got to fill out one of my forms. I’ve gotten to create no less than 10 forms since I started working in this position last year. Two of them go out to every student entering the University. They are lovely to look at and even lovlier to complete.
Oh, me too! Ugh! I nearly always burn myself on the arm with the damn thing, and I can’t keep the friggin’ clothes from slipping off the board, and I end up putting in wrinkles where there weren’t any. Should I win the Powerball, I will hire someone to do my ironing.
And yardwork. I hate all forms of yardwork. Makes my whole body hurt for days when I do it. Can’t stand the dirt under my fingernails that takes days to come clean.
And - I hate picking up the phone and calling people for almost any reason. And answering the phone. I want someone else to answer it for me, and if it’s someone I want to talk to and I’m not busy, I’ll come to the phone. But I’d just rather talk to people in person. I’m more “myself” in person. Don’t ask me to explain.
You can hire me. I love ironing. I think it’s the smell of the steam hitting the clothes and releasing the scent of the Tide, Bounce, and Downy. Yankee Candle figured that out and released scents called Clean Cotton and Fresh Linen.
I hate labels on things. I have to peel them off immediately, even if the item doesn’t belong to me. Friends hide their Bic lighters from me.
I was opening Christmas presents yesterday (yeah, yesterday, my oldest son refuses to do Christmas on Christmas, which is something else I hate – it’s not cute to be late when you’re 42 years old). The first gift I opened was a book with a price sticker on it. I didn’t open anything else until the sticker was removed, and I had to get the Goo-Gone to completely take it off.
I hate when people lick the tip of their finger while turning pages/counting out money/leafing through copies/etc. I mean, I seriously hate it on a primal, animal level where I feel my heart rate increase, I clench my teeth, and I have a gut-level urge to grab the nearest blunt object and just smash their brains in. I have no idea what the source of this is.