Today, C is for Chewing, impolite chewing (and by association, I guess C is also for Consideration). There are a few things that can instantly ignite flames of rage within the core of my very being. Loud and obnoxious chewing, also known as smacking, is at the top of my fire and brimstone list. I cannot explain it; well, I can...and I suppose I will within this blog-post, but it can be a lonely existence. Although I once met a girl who described the exact same feelings that I undergo when subjected to the inexcusable practice of excessively audible CHEWING, and as she carried her description through to the end, I thought two things and nothing more: 1) 'Oh my God! I am not the only one whose entire body, mind, and soul has a borderline homicidal reaction to smacking!' And 2) 'I really, really like this girl. I don't need to know anything else about her. She is my friend and my sister.' I never saw her again after that initial and brief visit, but my feelings about her remain to this day.What I would like to do now is try to explain what I undergo when I hear loud chewing, crunching, smacking, etc. Many of you will think that I need professional help, but I hold out hope that there will be those of you that understand PRECISELY every detail of what I describe, and together we can bring about a public awareness of the importance of Considerate Chewing by striking down -with a heavy and vengeful fist- those that engage in the grotesque practice of smacking and excessive crunching. So, here it is:
When the very first watery, mushy clicking noise of a smacker reaches my ears, my skin runs cold, but my very first thought -every single time- is: 'Maybe it was just a one time thing, a slip-up. It happens to the best of us; we all accidentally let one loose every now and again.' So, you see, I do try to begin with an extension of beneficial doubt. But when the disgusting, indefensible assault on my hearing continues -seemingly without end, as if time itself also becomes offended at the despicable and punishable sound- my eyes glaze over. Seriously, I can actually feel my pupils dilating. The corners of my mouth turn downward, while the left side of my top lip quivers in a failing attempt to restrain a sneering snarl. The carotid artery in my throat quickens in a natural mimic of my heart. My right foot begins to bounce up and down as my body tries to find some way to process and expend the build up of adrenaline coursing through it. Then, as the guilty takes barbaric bite after barbaric bite, the rage becomes too much for further containment. Visions of plunging my own eating utensils into the face of the smacker take full occupancy of my mind, and it is at this point that I will close my eyes, tighten my mouth into a thin white line, leaning my head first to the right, then to the left: each time raising my chin slightly upward so that my neck cracks on both sides, thus allowing the rage free flow to my face, turning it varying shades of red and purple.
Right about this time, one of two things usually transpires: 1) Either my husband has noticed what is happening and will quickly try to diffuse the situation by light-heartedly joking about the offender's caveman-like monstrosity of an excuse for eating, with the hope that it will politely bring it to his/her attention and he/she will refrain from his/her poor display of humanity (and most of the time, they do get the hint, and I can see them visibly asserting concentration on something most of learned to master right around the time we learned not to color our nursery walls with our own feces); OR 2) I will stand up abruptly and say something like, "I WILL NOT endure this for another second," after which I will storm out of the room, leaving everyone shocked and wondering what the hell just happened (as if they are incapable of hearing the same piggery that I am. Whatever).
So, who can relate?
