Syndromes

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I have a syndrome. No actually I have two, maybe more. They have developed over time and now seem to be so disruptive I have to limit my time in populated areas. Triggered by crowded conditions, poor service and no particular place to go. This confession isn't pretty but I am reaching out for help.

The first syndrome I have developed is an OCD variation of what I call "I-think-I-work-at-The Gap". Here are the signs. If I wander the halls of a department store and see, for instance, sweaters thrown in a pile instead folded as they were originally intended, I stop and fold them. If there is litter or lint lollygagging about on the carpet, I lean over and pick it up. If there are dresses on the floor, I rehang them. I can go into a Ross to buy a belt and spent three hours there just tidying up a bit. And I don't usually know I am doing this. I just replace all the clothes as I go down the aisle. It's no bother. I am happy to do it. In fact, I cannot stop doing it. I just feel better.

When it started, I felt self-righteous. You know the inner dialogue, 'Will ya just look at these slobs who have left the store untidy. Shame on them." But now I am thrilled that they left these articles strewn about. It's like being on a mission. Instead of being a secret shopper, I am a secret straightener. I feel empowered. Screw running a board meeting or delivering a presentation to 10 million people on TV. This is pay dirt. See, I told you I may need help. On the other hand, if you won't think I am judging you, I make a great guest for coffee. Before you have the cookies on the tray I can wipe down all your appliances and countertops.

The second, much less socially acceptable syndrome is what I call, "Late-life-onset-Tourette's”. I am pleased to announce that this version, as with most Tourette’s, does not affect life expectancy, per se. Although most of the people who hear me would like to silence me swiftly by whatever means is available, duck tape, a bandana or a good old fashion throttling, as my sainted Grandmother would say. Basically I swear like a sailor. Albeit, almost under my breath…almost. I even thought I had beaten this one (denial) and then just the other day my stepson said, "You know what's cool about you?" (I was imagining that I am hilarious, fair-minded, and so dang intelligent.) But no. He said, "It's that before you have been inside the house for fewer than five minutes, you are already swearing a blue streak." Guess this leaves out teaching Sunday School as an avocation.

Things that trigger my expletive deletives include but are not limited to: getting in the house and remembering something back on the car seat, long lines…oh #€|| lines of any length. Also, having a bad hair day triggers the blue blitz as does such things as zits, joint pain, forgetting my phone somewhere, or forgetting to charge my electronics. Actually forgetting in general gets my panties in a wad. I go ballistic if I am left in voicemail hell for more than one minute, I hate tech support that assumes I am a moron just because I cannot track their inane "robust" jargon. I am basically unfit for interaction with the outside world, and I am closing in on being not much good even on my own.

The worst of it, although I know my behaviors would irk the bejesus out of my grown children, is that I am ok with these syndromes. I feel entitled to do as I please. I just turned 64 and when I heard the Beatles sing that song 40 years ago I wasn't sure I would be around. Well, I made it and I am starting down the next phase between the Beatles and Jiminy Cricket. (64-103). Curmudgeon meets mumbler. That works for me.

Sally Franz is a former stand-up comedian, motivational speaker, and radio host. She is a twice-divorced mother of two and a grandmother of three. Sally has a degree in gerontology and several awards for humor writing. She is the author of "Scrambled Leggs: A Snarky Tale of Hospital Hooey,"and "The Baby Boomer's Guide to Menopause."