It's in the genes

I openly admit to being a bit strange. Not all the time, and not in a scary way; perhaps The Husband would disagree when I'm glossing the bannisters at midnight, but I like to think of my oddities as endearing little quirks. Take my thing about seeds for example. Ever since I can remember I've had a thing about pips in food. Maybe it's another Old Wives thing about seeds growing in your tummy and having an apple tree or strawberry plant sprouting in your guts, I don't know. But anything with seeds and pips, no matter how small, freaks me out. Burgers with sesame seed buns, strawberries, grapes - all a no go area. Tonight I was tucking into a huge slice of fresh watermelon - which I adore -  but had to abandon it because I got overwhelmed by how may teeny tiny seeds there were and had spent about an hour whittling them out with my fingernails. And then there's my sleeping 'ways'. I have to wear something, even if it's as hot as an oven. Similarly I have to have one leg inside the duvet, as a preventative measure against things getting me. Don't ask me what things, because I'm not entirely sure, but having your whole body on top of the quilt is just asking for trouble. Don't say I didn't warn you. I also wear just one earplug - in the ear that just happens to be facing upwards as I nod off. Quite a sight for eyes, me at bedtime - 'jama'd up with one leg on top of the quilt and one earplug in. Control yourself gents!

The Husband is strange too, and is the first to admit it. He too has to sleep with the sheets pulled up to his eyes in case a spider crawls into any available orifice. He has to have a bowl of mandarins every evening, even if he's full, and exactly the same lunch everyday. Although sometimes I buy him different sandwich meat, just to throw a bit of danger into the mix. And don't even get me started on the silly things he says - "Is it dangerous to put chicken in toasted sandwiches?" being the latest example. So, it comes as no suprise that The Childbeasts are strange also. And I'm not quite sure how much of it is just the normal strangeness that afflicts the majority of children, and how much of it is down to having odd parents. If we were normal, would we still have a  daughter who can cry at will? Would she still have to have the same breakfast everyday (that is TOTALLY The Husband's fault) and have to say "Love you, na-night, see you in the morning" about 50 times before we're allowed to go downstairs? And would The Boychild still be a tiny bit obsessed with cats bums or shake like a shitting dog at the mere sound of the Rag and Bone man? Actually, I've just read all that back and the poor little buggers never stood a chance!