I really like to be even. As in Steven. Or Stephan, if you’re so inclined. I do not judge. We all have issues and if yours is that you want to throw a “ph” instead of a “v” into your “Steen,” carry on, you crazy phreak.
After all, I named my daughter Carly with a K (Karly!) and my grandfather’s name is Knute! but the K is not silent. Life (liphe?) is too insane to waste time arguing phonetics.
So where were we? Ah, yes. I’m not the least bit insane. But I do have this one thing. And the thing is this:
I try to keep my world even. As in numbers. As in balance. Specifically, I prefer everything to be paired up Two by Two.
Like Noah with perhaps a bit less rain.
Let’s start with food. I eat evenly, or at least attempt to. When enjoying chips of the tortilla or the potato or the corn variety (which happens daily not every two days so don’t get smart), I grab one handful, and then another when the first handful is gone. If I have a third handful, I’m not content until I’ve gone back for a fourth. And so on.
(I can tell you are now nodding as this surely makes a lot of sense.)
If my husband offers me a bite of his cheesecake (which is something of a miracle given his love of dessert) he knows I will require a second bite. When there isn’t enough cheesecake left for two bites, he holds the spoon (or phork) while I suck off half the cheesecake, take a breath, and come back for the rest. What. You don’t do this? I’m so sorry.
When I’ve admitted this behavior to others, some people (who think they’re smart but who are actually not smart) smirk, “Oh. So you eat two entire pizzas?” Of course not. That would be insane. I would, however, keep track of my slices and eat two. Or four. Or six. Maybe eight during my two pregnancies. I simply feel more comfortable that way.
Eating evenly, I mean. Not being pregnant.
But moving on to elements arguably more important than food:
I have two children, two dogs and two cars. My ears are double pierced and I am writing my second novel. True, I ran three marathons; but I also ran three half-marathons. In my brain, this adds up to six big races and evens the score. It just does. Don’t argue. This is my thing.
I’ll admit I have only one husband and one house so don’t get smart. But I’m relieved to report we have moved twice and perhaps one day we’ll renew our vows. It could happen. With two weddings under my belt I’ll breathe more easily. Maybe I’ll serve two cheesecakes. Which would be smart because cheesecake is delicious.
Before you start making any suggestions, let me assure you I am certain my need for evenness has nothing to do with being a control phreak. Or OCD. Or anal (which is not delicious). I haven’t gone to therapy, but I’m positive any mental health professional worth two pinches of salt would say the following:
“You are perfectly normal, Julie. Don’t go changing to try and please me.”
(See how I have now effortlessly slipped Billy Joel into two posts? Also of note: In his song “Italian Restaurant,” Mr. Joel offers his girlfriend “a bottle of red AND a bottle of white,” which besides being smart also equals two bottles of wine. Which makes me smile.)
So, yes. I’ve decided. In my next life, I will for sure be Noah.
Except I’ll spell it Knoah, and pronounce the K. Because.