Wedding Blog

I’m loving this “Secret Life of Bees” series. Quirky, weird, or downright embarrassing details? How much time do you have? ’Coz I’ve got tons that I can overshare. Here are just a few:

• I have an irrational fear of dried fruit. Dried apricot, prunes, and — oh it makes me retch just to say the name — raisins give me the creeps. Foods that are in an in-between state — neither fresh nor completely dry — totally wig me out. For similar reasons, I do not like pickles — a trait that Mr. HC considers a character flaw and one that has me pretty convinced that I’m going to be expelled from the tribe before I even fully convert to Judaism.

[My personal nightmare. RUN!!]

• I only like to wear socks with toes. I like each individual toe to feel caressed and supported. I do not like my socks to feel scrunched inside my shoes. This started with pilates, when I discovered little toe socks with grips on the soles. Then it took over my life. I have not worn socks without toes for probably 2 years.

• I am OCS about grammar. To the point that I correct signs in bathrooms. To the point that each time I write a blog post, I go back and deliberately make sentences ungrammatical and more talky. My unedited style is a cross between a law review article and a magazine for sailors on shore leave — either insistently boring or NC-17. I am teaching constitutional law this semester; I leave it up to you to imagine what my classes are like.

• Mr. HC and I have a sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy. Scratch that. A nine-year-old boy. We giggle for hours about farts, make elaborate songs about penises and vajayjays, make crass jokes about each other’s families, and talk for an unhealthy amount of time about bodily functions. What can I say? We’re one classy couple. It’s good for the world that we found each other and are not dragging others into our lives of bathroom humor and ill-repute.

• Even though I grew up in Los Angeles, I didn’t get my license until I was 29. I tried driving once when I was 16, but I got as far as one block away from my house. That’s where I rammed the front tire into a corner grate while attempting to turn right, busted the front tire, and vowed never to drive again. When Mr. HC finally set an ultimatum and forced me to get my license, in the first month, I managed to total Mr. HC’s car just trying to back it out of a driveway. I convinced myself — and him — that nothing was wrong with the car until we were driving down the street and the whole front bumper fell off the car. For realz. I’ve been accident-free for almost a year, but if you see a blue Camry with a Princeton bumper sticker, I’d suggest you get out of the way.

Ok, maybe I’ll stop here. I don’t want to lay bare all my secrets just yet; I have to keep things interesting. But now that I’ve shared with you a litany of bizarre traits, you’d better share your secrets. Come on, tell me. I won’t judge.