Everyone has a vice. Most people have several under their belt. Doesn’t matter if everyone you’ve ever met says they love you to pieces. You best believe there is at least one or two things about you that they simply cannot stand. But they overlook it because you’re simply as cute as a button and twice as nice.
I most certainly have a laundry list of vices. Some that I’m fully aware of and trying to remedy. Some that I’m aware of but have yet to find the will power to stop. Some that I’m unaware of and that probably drives others bonkers. They subtly try to tell me, but I’m too dense to understand. Maybe I’m being willfully ignorant or maybe I really don’t see it as a vice. Maybe what I’m doing is, to me, as normal as peeing.
No one is perfect and ever will be. We all decide what we are willing to deal with and what we are not. In the end, someone has had to deal with us and our vices, whether temporary or long term. Judging the vices of others should be done with restraint given our own infractions.
That written, a vice that gets me all the time. Can someone PLEASE tell me why I must be forced to deal with folks eating with their mouth open? I mean, really? I do NOT need to see their food being masticated (as though it were cud) in their saliva as they chomp like a cow. Even worse, some of the mouth-open-eaters cannot seem to keep the food in that hole in their face. WHY? And do they notice it? It would seem they do not, because the napkin seems to never leave their laps as they continue to chew as debris sits on the side of their face, staring at me as though it being there were MY fault. Because you tend to expect better from these “adults”, you think, they must feel that. After all, I feel even the slightest thing that touches my face. Don’t they feel it? Apparently not, because they continue to chew, and talk, and chew and talk, as though nothing particularly odd is going on. The food in their mouth stares at me, because of course they are talking to me–still–while eating, mouth agape. The food that leaves their mouth while talking misses my poor plate by only inches. If my food could talk it would curse me out for subjecting it to such slackness. Meanwhile, I am forced to turn away, and further forced to make the grueling decision as to whether I should tell them what I believe to be the obvious. Did I ask if they can feel it? Just making sure. So, I try to do the proper thing and tell them there is something on their face. They put down their fork–finally–then proceed to clean their face with the napkin. Much to my dismay, they have simply shifted the debris from one place on their face to another. Sigh. Food still in mouth, they say thank you. A piece of debris from their un-swallowed food lands on my knife. I can’t.