… and were too bored to ask. Yes, kittens, it’s time to overshare pointless details of my life. Not that blogging isn’t, to some extent, exactly that, but since I have been double–tagged on the Five Things You Don’t Know About Me meme, I guess you really, really want to know. What next, you’ll be digging through my sock drawer? Anyway …
- I don’t like orange. The fruit, not the color. I adore all other citrus fruits, even tangerine, but somehow orange really turns me off, so much so that the smell of the oils that get kicked off when one is peeled actually nauseates me.
- I don’t know how to ride a bike. Chalk this up to a spastic and stubborn childhood. Thirty-mumble years later, I am evidently still as spastic and stubborn as ever.
- I can’t swim. See #2.
- I have siblings young enough to be my own children. My brother is 16 years younger than me; my sister is 26 years younger. We all have the same father, and none of us has the same mother.
- I have more hair than you. I don’t care who you are. All my life I have had the thickest, coarsest, wiriest mop of ash-brown hair. I have amazed and astonished hair cutters of all stripes. For the first couple of decades of my life it was the bane of my existence. Then I learned to stop trying to tell my hair what to do and just go with the flow. It’s still all there (some of it less brown than before), and I have gleefully adopted the insane bedhead ‘do that is my birthright.
How thick is my hair? Well, thick enough to hide the fact that I have a three-inch gnarly scar on the back of my head. Wait, does that make six things? Forget I said anything.