The treasures of the heart are odd, funny-looking things. For instance, my stay-at-home children broke out into several fights and fits concerning my son's two Superman toothbrushes today.
I certainly have no bones to pick with the Man of Steel. Unlike many nerdy comic-book aficionados who think he's too perfect to identify with, I appreciate Kal-El's unwavering goodness and strength. But they're toothbrushes. We're not talking about their blankeys, their favorite toys, or - let's say - the Crown Jewels.
I know it sounds as if I'm bashing the kids again - and of course I am - but I imagined the soundtrack of my life sounding more like Top Gun's than Barney's. At times, it's enough to make me a bit batty.
In all fairness, I can be quirkily particular myself:
I love my metal Staedtler pencil sharpeners and erasers. I am usually carrying one of each in my right pocket.
Books are people too.
Writing instruments are sweet. Think of the staggering promise of a wooden No. 2 pencil.
My pencil box is my pencil box - get your kindergarten, pie-grabbing hands off of it. (Yes, I have a pencil box. Though I haven't been able to find it in a fortnight. Back off, man, I'm a writer.)
When I have cash, it belongs - ordered from larger to smaller bills - face-up in my wallet.
I'm a sucker for cool high-tech gadgets. And all high-tech gadgets are cool.
I'm a sucker for what others tell me is cool. (It's like calling James Dean a chicken, only different.)
Just let me hold the remote. It pacifies me.
Give me Jif or give me death.
(For the unabridged list, see my wife.)