While traveling through Uganda, we spent a lot of time in a UN van with questionable shocks and suspension, clutching our chests at every speed bump (no stoplights; speed bumps), and chatting. I learned that Jennifer has a bag like Mary Poppins, from which she produced an extraordinary variety of snacks. I learned that Jenny has a music collection that’s right up my alley. And I learned that Ilina doesn’t like Star Wars.
Ilina’s admission led to a discussion of stuff that most everyone loves that we just don’t. With all the oversharing on Twitter and Facebook and the like, we know far more about each others’ tastes and preferences than would normally be disclosed in polite conversation.
For the most part, this development is pretty cool. We’re able to discover commonalities soon into acquaintanceships without engaging in third degree interrogation. On the other hand, it can leave us feeling like oddballs. Which is why I didn’t give Ilina any garbage about her disinterest in Star Wars; instead, I started considering what others love that I just don’t get.
Mustaches. Men with facial hair have frightened me since I was a child. The mustache motif craze makes me shudder. “I mustache you a question; shave it for later” — not clever; creepy. I know Movember is for a good cause, but I’m glad tomorrow is December 1 and most of my daddy blogger friends will shave and stop scaring me.
Nail art. Any sort of manicure that involves more than two coats of a single color takes more time than I believe necessary. Don’t you have a book to read? Or a toilet to scrub?
Candles. I used to love candles. Then we had a candle in the powder room of our apartment in New Jersey. Before we moved, I spent hours scrubbing soot off the ceiling and the wall above the toilet. The family who lived in our house here burned candles in the kitchen, but did not scrub the soot off the underside of the cabinets before they moved. Candles are messy.
Ottomans/poufs. They’re all over Pinterest, but I don’t get them. More than two in a room is weird. (I picture a bunch of poufs gathered together, like a troop of mushrooms.) They’re meant to be used as footrests, but they can only be spot-cleaned. They’re about as practical as fabric-paneled walls.
Harry Potter. I know. I’ve tried. It’s just not my thing. You’d probably hate all the history and science books I adore, so let’s call it even.