We All Have Pet Peeves

I’m somewhat of a gadabout. I’m easygoing, good for a laugh down at the Diogenes club, and sometimes, when you keep me from getting too foxed, I will talk about something interesting. Ladies and Gentlemen like me because most petty affronts don’t get to me. I’m not easily offended, I’m not quick to quarrel and generally, odds are pretty good that after a night of drinking and banter with me, you will not be greeted at the door the next morning by my second, laying out the formalities of the duel we will have later in the day.

But, dear lord, I have pet peeves. Certain behaviors just leave me vexed. Oddly, they all, ALL surround the eating of comestibles. Yes, my peeves surround the consumption of various and sundry foodstuffs. Below I list the top 4 pet peeves. I challenge you to explain why I’m just being a beef-witted puttock, or to defend me. Better yet, fill the below posts with your own pet peeves. Tis a noble thing to vent frustrations on the internet.

Now for my food-borne pet peeves:

  • Chewing gum with your mouth open.  Yes, we are all guilty of this, however that does not absolve you of your responsibilities to your fellow passengers on the omnibus, hansom or tramway. Whenever I see someone chewing vocally, I am reminded of cows, lazily chewing their cud upon the rolling hills and dales of the Cotswolds.  Be less bovine.
  • Rakes and rapscallions who start eating their potato chips before they have fully closed their mouths. The mouth becomes an echo-chamber that blasts the sound of your chip-destruction for miles, like a salivaic alpine yodel. I have such a ‘gentleman’ at my local club. Worse yet, he is a slow eater. I am daily serenaded with his chip cacophony symphony for a hour. I have walked out of Gilbert and Sullivan plays for being that long.
  • People who slurp noodles or soup. Thank God I was in India for the Boxer Rebellion, for I am told the whole of China does this.
  • People who enjoy victual pleasures too much. Do not serenade me with sounds of gustatory pleasure that rival the noises of a Whitechapel Dollymop. I am not fornicating with my sandwich next to you so please spare me the auditory sensations of you taking Arabian delights from your Turkish delight. That new German pastry may indeed be better than sex, but perhaps you should just lie back and think of cricket. Better yet, pretend that God watches you eat, even though we know he’s too busy watching after the English empire to care what you continentals do.


What are the little things (or big things) that you really can’t stand?


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