id·i·o·syn·cra·sy

[ˌidēəˈsiNGkrəsē]

NOUN

(idiosyncrasies)

a mode of behavior or way of thought peculiar to an individual:

At first, I thought the word I was looking for was fetish.  But that word means more of a fixation on something.  Idiosyncrasy fits.  Amusingly so it seems, as I gaze inward.

Years ago, I read of this TV celebrity who had a thing about how new socks felt when he pulled them on for the first time, and how they felt for the next couple of hours afterwards as he wore them. 

So much so, that his manager had to hire two people who concerned themselves solely with the purchase and dispersal of his new and slightly used socks.  The news brief said, supposedly, that he was wont to go through two pairs a day, wearing them only one time, before they were said to be ready for the next user(s).  This was the job of the second person on the sock team; find worthy individuals who felt gratified to wear slightly used, slightly odiferous socks. 

I guess you could say one of his idiosyncrasies was new socks.

The story seemed so blitheringly ludicrous that I practically snorted as I read it.  But then, like I said earlier, as I look inward I see a few quirks unique only to me that I imagine someone else may snort about, should they read this. 

For instance—

Don’t make me drink my coffee out of a cup that has been washed with soap.  I’ll taste the soap every time.

But, that’s only part of it. 

Don’t make me drink my coffee out of a cup I don’t normally drink it out of.  (At least when I’m around home.)  It won’t taste right, neither will it feel right in my hand, which is synonymous to coffee tasting right. 

I have a thing about napkins and envelopes.

I don’t care if I’m sitting in a restaurant, or my own dining room table, the way I leave my napkin at the end of a meal is important to me. 

Not so much with my wife and sweet daughter.  I told my friend Justin the other day that contrary to most of the signs, I am a perfectionist.  My napkin proves the point. 

I like use only the edge, not the middle, of my napkin to wipe any excesses away.  This way when the meal is finished the napkin has very few wrinkles, can be folded neatly in half with most of the soiled areas folded inward, and placed beside my plate. 

The females in this house, on the other hand, place little fuzz balls that once were napkins by their plate when they are done.  Their way is good for them, mine is good for me; we don’t fuss about it per say. 

I’m really not sure what motivates me to open my envelopes the way I do.  I do know it feels totally far out when I see someone get their mail, jamb their thumb under the flap, and crinkle and crackle their way to the other side.  The end result is an opened envelope, yes, but a completely disfigured one.  And it always leaves me with questions as to the integrity of whatever was inside the envelope after such a process. 

Like, what if it is a card I received from my good wife or sweet daughter, telling me of their nicer feelings towards me and I opened it that way?  Doesn’t it seem a little crass to treat such fine sentiment in such a coarse way? 

Sure, I get the excitement of someone wanting to see what’s inside so badly they practically can’t wait to rip it open.  I get that.  For sure if I suspicion it’s the aforesaid card from one of the aforesaid females in this house. 

But I don’t want to trample their love, right in front of them. 

Neither do I like the unseemly mess on my desk should I open the bills with my thumb or some other blunt object.  The pile of trash gets hard to manage with its this-way-that-way mentality. 

Open them with a letter opener, on the other hand, and you have a neat pile of trash that you know is trash and a neat pile of bills that you wish were trash when you see what you owe on them.

I asked the sweet daughter what she thought my idiosyncrasies were.  She never replied.  I’m guessing the list got long enough she lost interest with it. 

But it all begs a question.  Do you know what the quirks are of those you live with?  If they, like me, remain largely silent about what we are bugged about, is it still an idiosyncrasy? 

Do my wife and daughter know that when we take a walk, I need to walk in 4/4 time, with my walking stick moving only on the primary beat?  Do they know that if their step gets out of time with mine, I must readjust, sometimes almost continually, to get it to come out right? 

No, I doubt they know.  And I doubt it would matter to them if they did know.  It probably shouldn’t matter as much as it does to me. 

Anyway, wouldn’t it be a hoot to compile a list of ten people’s idiosyncrasies without their names? 

I wonder how revealing it might be.