1. What should and shouldn't go in a garbage disposal, (J-you can stop reading now.) I was pretty sure the pit of a plum fit in the former category. Wrong. The terrible noise only lasted for a second before I flipped the switch and fished out the offending stone. Worse than the sense of dread I felt at the thought of my brother-in-law discovering I'd broken an appliance (I hadn't. Really!) was the feeling that I'd forgotten how to live in a house. I grew up in the suburbs, in houses with garbage disposals. And the next thing on my list...
2. The basement. The basement scares me. Especially, but not exclusively, when I'm alone in the house. Scary things happen in basements. At least they do in the movies. And my imagination. But the basement is also where laundry happens. Seeing as I have about a dozen pieces of clothing to my name (that includes underwear), I need to do laundry.
So I developed a system where I have a friend on the phone, talking me through my expedition down the stairs and into the bowels of the house, where a serial killer could have set up camp. Alternatively, I may keep a friend on the IM while I run down to switch my clothes from washer to dryer. If I don't return in the designated two minute time frame (having been eaten by ferocious rats), said friend has been instructed to call emergency services.
3. During visits to my grandparents home in Illinois, I would often laugh at my grandma's seemingly compulsive need to draw the curtains the second the sun set. It was impossible for me to imagine who she thought could be lurking outside, peeping into their tiny house, where nothing exciting ever happened. Now I can conjure up plenty of unsavory pictures in my mind, which makes being in S's drape-less living room after dusk an impossibility.
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