Forrest won't use the garbage disposal. He says it's bad for the septic system and he cringes every time I shove foodstuff in it and flip the switch. I do not understand his logic because he shoves pieces of soap down the shower drain.
I love my garbage disposal. I love the sound of egg shells, vegetable peelings, chicken bones and sixteen zucchini getting chopped to smithereens. I like things that make other things disappear. That's why I'm so partial to my eyelids.
I would compost; I actually tried once. I purchased one of those fancy tumbling compost bins on a stand, but the first time I turned the crank it fell off its legs and rolled down the bank where it remains to this day resting against the barn and stinking to high, high heaven. If I stretch my neck really long I can see it out my office window. Yup, there it is.
I guess Forrest's aversion to disposals would be an idiosyncrasy.
I once knew I guy that would not eat the grapes in the bottom of the bowl, you know, the ones that fell off the stem. He thought those were the dead ones. I guess that would also be an idiosyncrasy.
Have you ever noticed that idiosyncrasy starts with idiot, ends with crazy and is full of sin or is noticing things just my idiosyncrasy?
L.E. Hughes is a columnist, writer and owner of Diamond Corner B&B in Stratton, Maine. She welcomes your thoughts and comments: email@example.com.
© September 2005 Lew-Ellyn Hughes. All Rights Reserved and Retained by the Author