A to Z, Part 6 (and the end...)

Alrighty, today is V through Z. (for those who may or may not be alphabetically challenged, that means this is the end of my Encyclopedic postings...).

V-Vulnerability, Public Displays of. I am not a fan of crying in public. Not other people’s crying, MY crying in public. And I’m not referring to the occasional tear trickle during the reveal on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, this is the tear-gushing, throat-constricting, loss of voice control kind of exhibition. Such displays of vulnerability are rare for me. They invariably leave me feeling tired, annoyed, and stupid for reacting to whatever caused the outburst in the first place.

W-Whistling Choir. Someday, I am going to have a whistling choir.

(Geert Chatrou, International Whistling Champion)

I haven’t decided yet whether or not I’m interested in massive quantities of whistlers (akin to the campers in Hayley Mills’ The Parent Trap as they follow Susan and Sharon to their Cabin of Isolation/Revelation) or if I will have auditions to make sure the select whistlers can carry a tune and harmonize. One thing I am sure of: my dad and my brother will get in. My Dad has an enormous whistling range, and my brother has been whistling since he was a baby so he’s a shoe-in.

X-eXtremes. I’m a pretty even keeled person, but there are a few things about me that lean toward the extreme. I am extremely ticklish. So much so that I was afraid I was going to crash the driver’s ed car during “Driving Exam 7: Dealing with Emergencies” if the instructor did the “No brakes!” drill by reaching over and grabbing my knee. I have nearly decked people out of reflex when they unwittingly grab my leg or try to massage my shoulders. And I am worried that I will kick some unsuspecting toddler who suddenly grabs my leg for balance as he’s learning to walk.
I am extremely critical of poorly written dialogue in books. An author can create a great story with fun twists and thoughtful turns, but if the dialogue is unrealistic or cheesy, the other creativity is lost on me.
I am extremely protective of those I love. When I was in 8th grade, a kid in 6th-grade made a less-than-kind statement about my younger brother. Having only known me as a happy-go-lucky girl who beebopped her way along, he (and the rest of the class who watched) was taken aback at the tongue lashing I gave him that let him know in no uncertain terms that nothing of the kind would ever, EVER, come out of his mouth again.

I surprised myself with that extreme.

Y-Yeast, Baking With. I have always had an irrational fear of yeast. Well, maybe not so irrational. I once tried to bake cinnamon rolls, but did not heat the water warm enough and so the yeast did not activate. I baked my flat little rolls, assuming that all would be well. And I ate a couple of them. It was only after bathing in the warm fluids of my stomach that the yeast activated wholeheartedly. Thereafter ensued the release of the gases that were supposed to leaven my rolls. It leavened me instead. Goodness, what a horrible evening.

(This past Thanksgiving I attempted the rolls again--with success!)

Z-Zits. This may be more information than you want, but I have a love-hate relationship with zits. I hate having them, BUT, there is an odd satisfaction that comes from purging one of its contents. A satisfaction that is difficult to attain in any other way.

There you are. More than you may have ever wanted to know about my ordinary life. What would be in the Encyclopedia of YOUR Ordinary Life?