I am not a big fan of loud eaters. Okay, they drive me nuts. Nothing drives me crazier than loud found inhaling. Seriously, give me poopy diapers, jello vomit, canker sores or grandma with a bad limp crossing the street, no problem. But crunching or chomping or teeth clicking or mouth open gag inducing slurping, I go nutbar. Terets. My leg starts twitching uncontrollably, I start sweating in odd places it's not pretty. Never mind that I start to gag. Hey, i'll take sitting in a dentist chair anyday - just keep your mouth shut when downing your bag of cheezies and stop licking your fingers. Yes, that bugs me too.
Here's the deal. Anything associated with grotesque eating habits is banned in my house. Lip smacking, aggressive spoon movement, continuous tongue licking... banned. My kids are not allowed to chew within 3 feet of my ears. Zingers go flying down my spine when I hear the slightlest slurp. You know those kind you get in your nether regions when you are on a roller coaster or when Tim McGraw looked your way at a concert and like totally stared at you (Shauna). It's like ants have made a nest just below my skin. I just got shivers thinking about it. There is no room for end of the beverage bottom of the cup loud straw suckage. Banned. If I had the opportunity to eat meals in a sound proof bubble I would seriously consider it.
I kid you not, if I sit beside one more dude reading his farmers almanac with BO and slurping his hot coffee, I am going to lose it. Like really, who wants to endure that? If I were to be honest I sometimes pray that they will find a huge hair in their coffee. Like huge and crusty. I do. I know it's horrible but I do. I am sorry but it helps.
Last night Carla and I had a hot date at the movie theatre. The A-Team. It was all we expected to be. Little cheesy, little over the top, little "back in the day". Beautiful. So we sit down and are THE ONLY ONES IN THE THEATRE. It was cheap night to boot, needless to say we were a little stunned. So we totally starting making out. Okay like that would ever happen. PDA (Public Displays of Affection) - above temporary hand holding - and Carla are about as synonymous as hot dogs and meat. Eventually about 20 other people come into the theatre. 2 who sit like 3 chairs away from us. I don't know... 27 other rows that were completely empty, but no, you have to sit close to us because you will never have any clue about social graces will you. And of course, movie starts, dude pulls out the bag of popcorn and starts incrementally eating one piece of popcorn at a time. I kid you not, one piece at a time.... mouth open. I start to weep. Carla cannot contain herself anymore and bursts out laughing.
My leg starts twitching like a rabbit in heat.
Moustache boy continues this display for 20 minutes. I am in stunned silence. He then takes his popcorn bag of horror and starts shaking it like crazy. I have no clue but let me tell you he did not need anymore salt to lick off his individual pieces of popped corn terror. Freddy Krueger proceeds to re-engage his eating insanity until every single kernel has been inhaled. By this time I have lost all control and am lying in the fetal postion on the floor buck naked with napkins hammered into my ears. Carla gives me a boot to let me know that my nightmare has ended and just as I drop into my seat, death eater claps his hands together repeatedly to shake off the oozing butter and salt which have formed a brown paste on his fingertips ending his diatribe with the shirt flick and napkin brush. I was officially incapacitated.
I am in the process of inventing intravenous everything.
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