Oddchester: Twizzlers or Red Vines? Those are fightin’ words
With elections coming up, President Trump having just left Rochester and political tensions seemingly high, this seems like the perfect time to talk about a few specific things that divide our family. And to explain why people who choose to believe differently than me simply are ignorant.
The topic: Twizzlers vs. Red Vines.
The family divide: I like Red Vines. Everyone else in my family prefers Twizzlers.
Why people who don’t believe what I believe should be berated mercilessly with no discourse or any attempt at understanding: Have you ever tried to pull one Twizzler out of the bag? Good luck with that, jerkfaces who like Twizzlers! Because if a bag of Twizzlers has experienced temperatures above 50 degrees, they instantly will fuse together into a brick of stupid fake ingredients. Their texture is like eating a stick of calamari. And another thing: Red Vines can be used as straws. Twizzlers can’t, because their inferior insides get fused together as well. Also, Red Vines taste better.
The biting post I’d love to put on Facebook pages of Twizzler lovers: “Don’t like my stance on Twizzlers? There’s an ‘unfriend’ button on Facebook. Feel free to use it.”
The topic: Thermostat settings.
The family divide: In winter, son Henry and I enjoy the house to be a pleasant temperature for sweatshirts, a thermostatic compromise for the entire family’s comfort. Lindy and our two daughters, on the other hand, want every room in the house to feel like you’re stepping into the next cauldron of hell.
Why people who don’t believe what I believe should be berated mercilessly with no discourse or attempt at understanding: When it comes to the top marriage stressors, relationship experts point to finances and raising kids. But when you’’re considering a prospective mate, ask where they stand on winter thermostat settings. If they’re a 74 and you’re a 66, and neither is willing to compromise, your relationship is doomed.
Luckily for us, we live in a split-level, a style of home designed so, during the winter, the structure is split into two distinct temperate regions. From November through February, our lower level becomes very much like that walk-in beer cooler at Hy-Vee Wine and Spirits. Our upper level feels like you’re standing inside a 1970s tanning booth. So, Lindy not only gets to bask in the upstairs heat, but the soaring upstairs temps also drive me into the basement.
The biting post I’d love to put on Facebook pages of people who set their thermostats ignorantly high: “For Halloween, I was going to dress like a person who likes the thermostat set high. But they were out of Devil costumes. Because you’re just like Satan.”
The topic: Going to bed early or going to bed late.
The family divide: I generally stay up until midnight in order to live life to the fullest. Lindy, on the other hand, goes to bed basically right after dinner.
Why people who don’t believe what I believe should be berated mercilessly with no discourse or attempt at understanding:
There is a certain group of people the rest of us want nothing to do with before 10 a.m. They’re the ones who flit wide-eyed into the office at 7 in the morning and perkily shout things such as “No sad faces, LET’S TURN THOSE FROWNS UPSIDE DOWN.” And this is on their days off.
These are The Morning People. I just know, at 6 a.m., The Morning People are bopping around the house singing “Rockin’ Robin” while feather dusting.
When you slink into work at 9:05 a.m., they are the first ones to make some passive-aggressive comment, such as “Hey! I made my famous breakfast pizza again this morning! There is one piece left, but it’s probably getting moldy from sitting on my desk since I brought it in at 6:45 a.m.! Why, that’s more than two hours ago!”
The biting post I’d love to put on Facebook pages of The Morning
People: It’s a meme with a tired-looking cat, and that cat is saying
“Sometimes people want to have full conversations in the morning … and it is OK to murder those people.”