I’ve got a pet peeve. Okay…more than one. In fact, probably too many to count, which means some of them surely don’t hold enough importance to merit words on a page.  I am only human.  I am working on releasing silly little things…but still, I do get peeved.  Perhaps I should start a numbered list to work out my peevishness issues?  Hmm.  That’s a thought.

For example: Pet Peeve #1: It ruffles my feathers when folks leave grocery carts in parking spaces because they are too lazy to walk a few extra steps to return a cart to its designated cart return area. I’ve had dings in my car because of an errant cart rolling into my car. That wouldn’t have happened if said cart was in its proper place. Surprisingly, I’ll confess that this is not a big problem here in middle-earth-land. At my local grocery store I see more people actually returning carts than anywhere else I have lived, except in Germany and Italy that is. There you have to pay for a token to get a grocery cart and if you don’t return the cart to its rack you don’t get your money back. Anyhow, this proper cart etiquette was a cause for pause for me; It’s no secret that I’m not always positive about my Alabama living experience. But for all that I complain about living in the south there are good things too, very nice people being at the top of the…er….well…admittedly, short list.

So yesterday as I walked very early in the morning with The Poodle in order to beat the oppressive heat that has gripped middle-earth-land for the better part of two weeks I was unfortunately reminded of another pet peeve (let’s call it Pet Peeve #2). A particularly gross one: Condoms on the sidewalk. And not the ones that are UN-used, still in their little sealed wrappers.

I know. Ewww. Thoroughly disgusting. Yet, there is not a week that goes by that I don’t pass a used discarded condom on the side of the road, in a ditch, or on the sidewalk, in a parking lot, even in a pretty little flower bed. Seriously. We’re talking neighborhoods  folks…not out in the boonies near some locally designated “lovers lane” (although, I could argue that it sure feels like living in the boonies compared to my Southern California days). And, it certainly doesn’t add any bliss to my quiet morning walk having to yank The Poodle’s leash issuing a stern “leave it” command as his snout strains to dive into rubber rubbish.

Rubber rubbish

Rubber rubbish

Sexual intercourse…the coming together of two people in love (or, as the case often may be…in juvenile lust) can be a beautiful, wonderful thing for sure, but for heaven’s sake people, while it is terrific that you’re using protection could you not keep the evidence of it off the sidewalks and out of the flower beds?!  Could you not find a place for your coupling other than the cul-de-sac at the end of my street or the church parking lot down the hill just off of a busy street? In other words…how about this concept….pleaseGET A ROOM!  And, while you’re at it, how about disposing your used rubbers containing your bodily fluids in a trash receptacle instead of littering streets, sidewalks and pretty flower beds!

Whew.

Now, with that off my chest…on to the business of clearing debris—-that would be large fallen branches and twigs (and thankfully not condoms) from last nights freakish storm— from my flower beds.