Pinky's Bizarre and Disturbing Inner Thoughts continued...

                              

After yesterday’s post it has been spectacularly revealed that I am not the complete nut bag I feared I was. I have been inundated with comments from other people who also get the urge to shout out inappropriately at solemn events. Okay there were only four people and one was my husband but I’ll take that number as confirmation that I truly am not a threat to society.

One friend Briony, declared that she too felt the compulsion to scream out raucously during the more sombre moments of our conference yesterday. 

Another friend Jo, admitted to sometimes experiencing the urge to sporadically yell out at an unsuitable moment during a funeral (not that there is ever a really suitable moment). 

Now I must admit that both of these ladies have been extremely encouraging towards me during my journey of writing this blog which may indicate that they're merely tarred with the same kooky brush as I am; but nevertheless, I will take validation where ever I can find it.

Perhaps humans have some primeval instinct to do the opposite of what is sociably acceptable. 

I thought I might do some research on the subject and Googled, ‘inappropriate shouting at funerals’ but all I found was a list of symptoms for Dementia and a catalogue of 26 (tempting) but inappropriate songs to play at a funeral including; Queen’s ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ and Peggy Lee’s ‘Is that all there is?’.

Since I seem to be in the mood for revelations I must admit other inappropriate thoughts enter my head on occasion. For instance I’m terrified of heights but it’s not because I’m scared of falling. It’s more that I’m worried my brain will misfire and compel me to jump off the edge.

A similar feeling comes over me sometimes when I’m driving very fast on a highway and a semi-trailer is approaching from the other direction. I become paranoid that just as I’m about to pass the huge truck, the evil side of my brain will take over and force me to swerve in front of it and I’ll be smashed to smithereens. 

I’ve never mentioned this frightening train of thought to my passengers mind you; I don’t think they’d like it very much. 

If someone hands me a delicate, fragile item I’m always afraid that a malevolent brain snap will induce me to drop it deliberately on the ground. The more precious the item is to the donor the more likely I am to have this compulsion. What is wrong with me?

Apparently (according to my research on a few dodgy sites) it’s a bit like people who smile when they’re delivering bad news. I investigated all of these weird notions and evidently they’re a universal phenomenon. So Pinky is relatively normal after all.

While I was discussing all of this nonsense with my friend Jo today, she divulged a family quirk concerning her ‘sister-in-law’ (yeah I bet!) who apparently suffers the same affliction as I do when cruising through bookshops. No longer can she frequent a bookshop to browse the empty hours away because not only does she get the overwhelming urge to pass wind, she goes one step further and needs to find a toilet sooner rather than later, if you get my drift.

Did I bother to research this strange singularity which Jo’s ‘sister-in-law’ and I seem to share? You bet I did.

I composed my intriguing and captivating question as eloquently as I could and typed it into Google search, 

‘Why do I always need to f*rt in the library?’ 

... and sure enough, at the top of the page was the site I was looking for. 

According to the judicious au.answers.yahoo.com, Jo’s ‘sister-in-law’ and I must have both been looking for “Gone with the Wind”.