Seven Random Things

So, once again, I have succumb to the peer pressure of two older sisters. Maybe I need to spend less time with them and more time with my sister who is content to not pester me into doing things! But, on reflecting on their most recent "request" (more like demand, I think!), I decided that it could in fact be interesting. So, here it goes. Presenting, "Seven Random Things About Esther You Aren't Sure You Ever Really Cared To Know."

1. I've spent time in a garbage can This particular event is thanks to two older brothers, whom I often think are still trying to pay their penance for this act of youthful stupidity. Imagine the following scenario: A beautiful and perfectly behaved little girl sits innocently in her home minding her own business. Suddenly, two older and much bigger brothers burst in, grab the unsuspecting youngster, and take her out with the trash. Being unfortunately small for her age, she was unable to escape the prison she was so unfairly tossed into. Okay, so maybe that isn't how it went. All I really remember is that I was too short to get out myself, it was dark, and it smelled bad.

2. I have a fear of escalators To be completely honest, I have NO idea where this fear came from . . . probably from one of my kind older siblings telling me that if I got too close to the end of the escalator where the stairs go back in, my toes would be sucked in and I'd be stuck . . . or worse, go down with the stairs. Wherever it came from, I still hesitate a little bit before stepping on the escalator and have to concentrate on getting off to ensure I don't get stuck or sucked under!

3. I used to sleep with a cleaver under my bed This might sound a little extreme and earn me the title of "Paranoid Freak." But, the obvious reasons for having a cleaver under your bed (if there are any) are not the case with me. I did it out of protection of my college roommates and even the cleaver itself. What it all comes down to is that I didn't trust leaving it in the kitchen for my roommates to cut themselves, dull the blade, or who knows what else. These are the roommates who lost my favorite pot, grew mold in one of my bowls, kept weevils in their rice supply . . . well, you get the picture! My cleaver was safer under my bed!

4. My desire for individuality drove me to conformity Being the youngest of seven kids isn't always easy. It comes in handy at times, but the constant, "Oh, you're so-and-so's sister" can get old . . . really fast. In high school, I was constantly expected to play the piano because my older sister knew how. I guess not everyone in the world has gotten the memo that piano playing isn't a genetic trait that you inherit. Any way, it was about this time I set off on a quest to find myself--to identify myself as someone other than "so-and-so's sister." (I even got called my siblings' names occasionally.) I started by shunning all the things I knew my sisters were associated with--orchestra, band, and choir. And then, I started involving myself in things I knew they had never done--joining the literary magazine staff, the yearbook staff, the newspaper staff, running for Drama Club office. Alas, I was wrong. At one point or another, I had at least one sibling participate in each of those activities. I decided to wear crazy socks to school . . . oh, wait. Rachael did that, too. Consequently, I took up playing the ukulele. Crud . . . Patti does that too! Oh well. I've finally decided that it's okay to be like my siblings. That way when they tell me I'm crazy, I can gently (or not so gently if the situation demands it!) remind them that I was only following their example!

5. I've learned that pretzels smell really, really salty when they are in your nose Have you ever noticed that when you want to get a good wiff of something, you either get closer to the item or bring the item closer to you? Well, then it would logically follow that if the aforementioned item was in your nose, you'd get an even better wiff of it, right? Maybe not, but I have to say for the record that I did not put the pretzel in my nose on my own accord. I have my sister, Rachael, to thank for that! Okay, so maybe I was flaring my nostrils at her and she asked me to stop . . . . several times. Maybe she warned me that if I did it one more time, she would shove the pretzel up my nose. Maybe I did flare my nostrils at her one more time. But, I swear I didn't deserve it! ;-)

6. I like being verbose when I write This condition really does only present itself when I'm writing. I don't become verbose when I talk. Perhaps it's my feeling that the written word lasts much longer and is more accurate than the spoken word. Or maybe it's because I love books and writing so much. Or maybe I just like the power that comes with writing something extensive and know that someone, somewhere will spend time reading it. Who knows! I do know, however, that my motto is "why say it in two, three, or even four words when you can say it in twenty, thirty, or even forty! What can I say, I'm a word geek. Isn't that a great term? "Word Geek." Yep. It's a keeper! When I was younger and came across an unknown word, I would, as any child would do, ask my mom or dad what it meant. Their response was always the same, "look it up." "How do you look up a word you don't know how to spell?" It seemed like a legitimate question. But alas, they would respond, "sound it out." Despite the turmoil and strife I went through in my youth, I now relish in the opportunity to learn a new word to add to my vocabulary. I mean, how else could I perseverate in a circuitous manner without the use of words? How can you be a true sesquipedalian without a vast vocabulary? How can you describe anything with the explicit detail English teachers all over the country insist is important in a handful of words? I don't think I can adequately express myself without the use of a few good words . . . or in my case, a lot of good words!

7. I once asked a guy on a date after I met him in an elevator If that fact isn't random enough, this particular guy plays the ukulele. How many people do you know that met someone in an elevator that plays the ukulele? And, for your information, Patti, his name happened to start with a "J"! I never rode the elevator in college if I could help it. A few flights of stairs are good for the heart. (Maybe not my lungs, but the heart, nonetheless.) But on this particular occasion, I was hauling a lot of stuff . . . more than was typical for me in college. So, I got on the elevator. We chatted (the typical, rote, casual questions, "what's your name?" and "What's your major"), and the next day, I asked him on a date. I can guarantee that won't ever happen again! I still prefer the stairs!

Well, there you go. Once again I've proven that in my desire to show I'm an individual, I conformed to the path my sisters started. At least I did it in my typical verbose manner!