Congratulations on the Birth of Your New Psychosis

Before launching into the title subject of this entry, I’d like to take a moment to curse a once beloved source of clothing: Fie, Banana Republic! Fie, I say! The inappropriately expensive pants that I bought from you mid-winter have developed a fatal fault. The zipper refuses to stay zipped meaning yesterday I was forced to constantly check on my fly status making me look like some kind of crotch-obsessed weirdo (which I’m mostly not!) in the presence of others lest I expose my brightly colored underthings. Furthermore, Banana Republic Pants, how dare you impugn my favorite pair of polka dotted underwear as the offender in past events! They aren’t broken at ALL! It was you all along, you useless, selfish bastard(s). Fie. Grumble.

In other news, I have developed a new neurosis in addition to my hypochondria and my continued dialogue with inanimate objects such as tweed pants. I am officially Squeamish Towards Foods Past Their Prime Which Are Maybe Not So Past Their Prime After All. Mind you, I am the woman who found an M&M behind her college roommates’ desk once, ascertained that it had been there for approximately 7 months and then proceeded to eat it. I have extracted a fly from a bowl of soup before to avoid the hassle of returning it to the kitchen.

Regardless, the progression has been slow but steady and now merits official status in my arsenal of psychiatric issues. I started by throwing away any vegetables that had developed a soft spot or wilted at the edges. Then I tore apart dairy cases looking for the products with the absolute latest expiration date. Soon I was unable to eat poultry that had sat in the fridge for more than 2 days. And now, in this darkest of hours, I have tossed a (probably) perfectly good turkey wrap because the cold cuts smelled funny this morning. That’s reasonable, you say? I bought them fresh yesterday, I say.

I intend on labeling the deviant deli item “Exhibit A” this evening and leaving it for Beau’s final judgment this weekend. He is my voice of reason in most things except reasonable driving speeds. And besides, I’ve already lost the receipt, so I can’t demand my money back. It occurs to me that this may be a genetic phenomenon as Bologna refuses to drink milk more than a day after the bottle has been opened but as it currently stands, this hypothesis is strictly conjecture pending further investigation.