I have recently come to the realization that I may be even weirder than I actually think I am.  We all have weird habits here and there which we are well-aware of, but I am here to alarm you that there is a whole new ball park of weird– and its ready to play some fucking baseball.

There is a bunch of stuff we do while in the comfort of our own home which appears normal to us.  And it should– you are after all in your home, your little bubble, resistant to the harsh cruelty of the outside world. But of these things, I can assure you that there are probably two or three which, while appearing normal to you, would, if enacted in a public space, be labeled by an outspoken individual as “fucking weird”.

For example, here is my story:

I was talking to a work colleague named Michelle and, for some reason, the conversation turned to milk. Yes, just your ordinary by-product of cow molestation, Milk. Michelle was explaining to me how another person she knows hates milk, and she could not understand why, as she rather enjoyed drinking milk. I was ecstatic with this response, because milk is my all-time favourite drink. I consume milk at a far greater rate than any other beverage known to man. If I was asked, “If you were going to die tomorrow, and you had the choice of one last meal to eat on earth, what would it be?” I would reply ‘glass of milk, thanks’ and my high calcium intake and I would go die happily together.

Anyway, Michelle and I soon began to bond over our love of milk as if we had just discovered that we both had the same favourite band, effortlessly going through the features of milk and the ways we like to consume it as if swiftly making our way through the band’s discography.

I began, “I pretty much have milk every day” and she nodded in approval.

So I further elaborated, “You can have it on its own, or with tea, or with cereal”, “Yeah, exactly!”  she replied.

The conversation just continued to flow, our voices going a decibel point higher from excitement each time we agreed on something. Seeing as we went from acquaintances to friends in mere seconds of general milk-chit-chat, I started to get a bit more comfortable and open about my love of milk. It was as if I was testing the potential strength of this friendship like I was determining whether she was a true fan of the band or someone who just knew their one-off big hit single.

To soften the blow, I began “Is this weird?” and then continued, “Sometimes after a massive night of drinking, like when I’m really hung-over, I just crave milk the next day.”

And boy, did she pass. “No way, I’ve heard Milk lines up your stomach and it can even slow down the absorption of alcohol or something along those lines, so it probably helps”.

The fact she agreed with me was more important than the facts she actually mentioned. I didn’t even care if they were true or not (Bitch please, I would drink milk even if it meant I grew hairy balls on my face) but it was safe to say that this bond was almost as strong as our bones. Bouncing off each others’ enthusiasm, I found myself with a serious case of word vomit on a topic as mundane as milk. I mean, I was talking about absolutely boring-ass shit as if we were debating politics.

“Actually, the only thing I can‘t really drink it with, is Baileys. I don’t like mixing milk with alcohol”

But again, she completely agreed.

And then, in true word-vomit style, thinking this friendship could only get stronger the more we agreed on milk-related topics, I thought of something even more particular, and even more unusual, that if agreed upon would really seal the deal.

“Oh my god”, I waited till I had her full attention.

Then I puked out my word-vomit:

“I love milk soooooooooo much, that sometimes when I have a bowl of cereal, I also have a glass of milk!”

I looked at her with a grin on my face, waiting for her to nod in approval and to have a few laughs because we couldn’t believe how alike we were. But this time, she didn’t nod. And this time, she didn’t laugh. Her eyes just enlarged, as eyes tend to do on the faces of people who are suddenly shocked. What I said was so absurd that it actually caused the muscles on her face to spasm and uncontrollably tighten in a way that slightly budged out her eyes – just for a quick second.

Michelle then replied, “Oh wow. I don’t love milk that much.”

Umm, did you suddenly become lactose intolerant? And it was at that point when I realized that I am weird. I am just like those fucking thirteen year old little monster Gaga fans. But milk is my Gaga. While I tried to defend my position by explaining that the milk in the cereal does in fact taste different to the milk in the glass because the cereal has dissolved in it, I just couldn’t win her back. It was like she told me she had an album full of unreleased tracks from this fictitious band that I keep mentioning, but wouldn’t burn me a copy.

Once she left (as we had nothing else in common to talk about), I had a sudden flashback of my weird milk habit. As if I was a main character in a television drama that died in the season finale, and the producers wanted to show you what happened throughout the entire season just in case you only watched the final episode and had no fucking idea just how important this death was.  I soon realized that the only time I “ate” cereal and “drank” a glass of milk was when I was on my own. Majority of the time, I would have breakfast alone.  No one ever happened to walk past me, enjoying my calcium fuelled breaky, to be like ‘Hey, wait a minute. Are you having milk with cereal and then washing it down with a glass of milk?’ Perhaps this was my sub-conscious acknowledging it was weird, so whenever there was another presence at the breakfast table, it would make my body suddenly have a craving for a bacon and egg breakfast like some kind of natural instinct for survival.

All these years and it just seemed natural to me– I didn’t even think to question it. It was in this whole other ball park of disguised weirdness. How many other things do I do which appear second nature to me but are completely ridiculous to everyone else?  Should I also mention that I simultaneously have a drink when I have soup too?  I unwillingly gave this information to another person, not knowing that it would be considered so left-field. My little bubble home has burst. And Michelle had pierced it with the needle of social norms. Regardless, yes, I do continue to drink milk with my cereal. So fuck you Michelle, and fuck society. I love milk and I hope the rest of you get brittle bones and rotten teeth.

But surely, I cannot be the only one with a habit which went completely unnoticed by themselves as “weird”. So, I ask you to explore your weird. But if you do, keep it to yourself.