It is human nature to go through life with certain expectations: something you throw up had better come down unless a giant bird is involved, dishes should be clean when they come out of the dishwasher or Sears is getting a call. Science is 99% seeing if you can get something to do that weird thing again under the same circumstances (the other 1% is "What the hell is that thing?!" Followed by magical protein/dna/chemical never being seen by anyone else ever again).
If you were to receive a box of chocolate you'd be pretty miffed if you pulled off the cover and found instead of sticky sweets a bag full of smoked haddock (unless you're running a Haddock smuggling ring in which case, knock it off! Norwegians need their lutefisk!).
And if we were to travel this world bright eyed like a newborn lamb always wondering what wonder nature was about to bestow upon us having nothing to draw upon we'd make it about three steps into the crosswalk before getting mowed down by a semi.
Yet expectations can hold one back, ruin what would have been an otherwise pleasant experience all because the dancing bear didn't come over to your table and try to tango with you (you people have weird presumptions about the Kennedy Center.)
My husband can get a bad case of the assumptions about a place, thing or food (animal, vegetable and mineral he always reserves judgment for though) but what can drive me mad is that 9 times out of 10 he doesn't realize he's had them til I find out his brain has declared a new restaurant dead to him because it failed to restock the napkins in the overhand manner.
So I am forced to dig out of him exactly why he reacts with vitriol every time we, say, drive past Cane's Chicken when all I remember was a fairly good experience albeit a bit pricey.
After hours of my asking "Why'd you hate it? Why'd you hate it? Why'd you hate it? Why'd you hate it" I finally get my answer. Thus is written another of my husbands tenets of life.
Low upon all you chicken places who dare to create a bready covering for your fowl for you shall be forsaken. Thus spake the husband.
But because chicken not being crispy really doesn't put butts in pews here's another of my recent discoveries. While he and I both agree that the Prequels are really only good for making sand jokes, certain Original Trilogies are dead to him because of the fact that Vader can use telekinesis (yet mutants doing it, perfectly normal. Yeah I don't get it either) and for one big omission:
This is such a grave injustice that Lucas had better not go out in any lightning storms.
Do any of you or your various significant others have any of your own strange creeds that if broken you shall never visit upon it again? Do you tend to keep these to yourself or do you share them freely?
There is; however, one tablet I think we can all agree upon.
