As I drew back the curtains to let some sunlight into my dank, smelly man-cave this morning, it occurred to me that in my most private moments, I am a decidedly strange individual.
For starters, I frequently anthropormorphize inanimate objects, animals, thin air, and the occasional passing stranger. Stepping forth from the newly-lit abyss that I loosely term a "bedroom", I planted my foot firmly into a damp patch of carpet that smelled suspiciously of dog piss. This invariably led to a two-minute tirade of curses directed primarily at my half-chihuaha/half-demon mutt Toby; but of course as he was napping quite peacefully, my wrath was quickly redirected at nearby furniture and kitchen appliances.
After this lovely wake-up, I stepped outside to enjoy the sunlight and my morning coffee, and managed to set my bare foot in yet another one of my two dogs' lovely little presents. They're so thoughtful. Naturally, this caused another storm of foul language that happened to be overheard by a passing group of small children on their way to school (whose mothers I'm quite sure will later thank the kind stranger who so enriched their childrens' vocabulary).
Irate at the way my morning had been going, I engaged a nearby squirrell in a polite conversation about how stupid my dogs are. Though he seemed rather quiet at first, when I turned our conversation towards the brisk morning weather, he began to chitter away quite merrilly. Apparently weather is more than just small talk to tiny little mammals, as he seemed to gesticulate rather animatedly in the general direction of the sun and then shivered visibly.
Now let me set something straight for a moment here. I do not in any way, shape, or form, believe that animals can talk back to me. I hold no Thornberry delusions, here (ten coolpoints for those who got the reference). It's simply a great way to vent my stresses, seeing as animals can neither comprehend my woes, nor point out how sadly petty said woes happen to be. Basically, squirrells are the perfect therapiists.
Anyways, after this delightful exchange, it dawned on me that had I been in the company of other people, I would never have shouted at thin air, or cussed at inanimate objects, or attempted to hold a conversation with a squirrel. It's not that I'm crazy (although if I were to be honest with myself, I am a wee bit off my rocker), it's simply that there are things that people don't do in polite company.
Farting, for one. Which I think is absolutely ludicrous, seeing as it's perfectly acceptable to burp and say "excuse me" or sneeze and say "bless you", and these are just two other quite disgusting bodily functions in their own right. But I digress.
It made me wonder what things other people do when they're alone. I honestly believe that everyone has one (or several) little idiosyncracies that don't reveal themselves in the company of others. And it made me realize, we are never truly and completely ourselves unless we're alone. Because no matter how close you can get to another human being, there will always be those things that you do when alone that you would never do in front of any other person. We all have our own private, crazy little quirk. For me, it's conversing with animals and toasters.
So the question I pose is this: what's yours?
