Etepetete

It's pronounced 'ate a potatah', like the way a Bostonian would say 'potato'. (At least that's the way my husband says it when he tells me "his ont keeps her potatahs and her khakis (the ones to her Chevy) in the bottom cabinet draw"). It's German for "overly particular", which I can sometimes be. I spent way too much time thinking of a title for this blog. I had ideas ranging from "Grimacing Violet" (suggested by my husband) to "Nocreativetitlewhatsoeverforthisblog", which could be a German word from the looks of it. So anyway, I'm only overly particular about particular things. For instance, I'm particular about the water droplets in and around the sink (I don't like them there). And I'm particular about putting too much hydrogenated soybean oil and high fructose corn syrup into my mouth, the noise volume in our living room when the Red Sox get a run (although I'm also secretly happy when they win and the Yankees lose), how I fall asleep, how hot the room is, my friends, and how often I can run. The bad news is, where my neuroses end, my husband's pick up. I'm not too particular about the cleanliness of my car, but he has what some might call 'auto-hypochondria'. It's a chronic condition that never lets up. The tires need constant caressing. We listen attentively for noises which remain unidentifiable and cause fits of hair pulling and never-ending trips to the mechanic. I am, however, grateful for my safe and smoothly-running car. I'm also grateful for my husband's ever-expanding patience and support when my particulars turn me into a particularly moody, vengeful, no-longer-able-to-produce-coherent-words wife. I'm more than happy to be called a grimacing violet.