Holly extends a tag like a scepter, and I must bow to my liege's will:
Top seven signs of me-ness run amok:
1. Whenever I wash my hair, I apply conditioner, then wash my face, then rinse conditioner. Even if my face doesn't need washing. Even if I'm not taking a full shower. I time the length of leaving conditioner on my hair by the time it takes to wash my face. No exceptions. If I do not do this, then I am confused by what my conditioner has accomplished, convinced my hair will begin to break off or fall flat the minute I begin toweling it dry.
2. I walk up and down escalators. Even in West TN. People stare, but I get where I'm going twice as fast as they are.
3. Closet doors must stay shut at all times when not in immediate use. Daylight, dark, messy room, clean room, doesn't matter. I'm sure there is a Freudian explanation for this. All I am willing to commit to is that the closet door must stay shut. Period. I often find myself wanting to shut them when in other people's houses.
4. Whenever I drive to or through Nashville, and I first see the skyline, I say "Hello, Nashville!" or "Goodbye, Nashville!" outloud, depending on whether or not I am coming or going. I always have a good time when I'm there.
5. Whenever I see my 2-year-old niece, I pick her up under her arms and swing her like a bell saying "Ding, dong. Ding, dong." It has conditioned her to run up at me saying "ding dong" whenever she sees me.
6. I don't like visiting museums with other people, for the most part. I want to be left alone to look at things and read all the labels without people talking to me, or making demands on my time or attention. Of course, I tend to point out all kinds of things that are wrong or design choices I don't like, which annoys my companions. They usually prefer to let me go on my own. PS--to all the museum professionals reading this: Please don't sway the opinions of your visitors by using boldface type on your labels. We all know Andrew Jackson was a racist pig for signing the Trail of Tears legislation, but it is not a museum's function to pot-stir at the sacrifice of honest dialogue. End of diatribe.
7. I obsessively love Lucinda Williams' music. Surprise.