I love the expression “she’s got your number,” as in when someone sizes you up quickly or points out something funny that you do that you didn’t realize could be a meme that goes viral because you’re actually hilarious, but never noticed. Like when you’re discussing having ice cream with your Mom and every time you mention the dessert she says, “Oooooo, ice cream!” Multiply this by more than 50 years and you can see how funny that can be. Or when your significant other Vanna Whites* some casserole masterpiece that he’s created with a big TA-DA after having used no less than a full stick of butter, nineteen ingredients, and more than twelve mixing, chopping, peeling, roasting, and stirring utensils. Thoughtful creature that he is, he cuts you a massive wedge and then expects you to eat the whole thing in front of him as he’s smiling and nodding right up close next to your face for each delicious bite. “It’s good right? You like it, right?” Hilarious. (*Vanna White: verb based on the famous letter turner from Wheel of Fortune. To show off with a big gesture. To out something in a grand fashion.)
On the flip side, a keen observer (or casual associate) might notice some tiny idiosyncrasy, pet peeve or glaring character flaw of yours and might use this leverage to their advantage or just because it’s in their interest to do so. The problem with someone having your number is that they can push your buttons.
I like to think that I’m a calm, level-headed, balanced person who is careful with words; one who makes fair decisions and who doesn’t often exhibit knee jerk reactions. Oh how wrong we can be about ourselves! In a raised voice, my son has loudly reminded me that apparently I, “Only do certain things to completely piss him off!” Ummm, actually not the case. Believe it or not, I said or did that because I was thinking of myself, not about you, dude! So sometimes the button pushing is unintentional, but you get the message anyway.
Just put me in the living room while the marble droppers upstairs are going bananas by dragging furniture, screeching, and pounding on the floors and in less than three seconds I’m cursing, calling the front desk to complain and literal steam is coming out of my ears. Clearly they have my number. Why does it bother me so much? I guess it’s because they show me such a tremendous lack of neighborly respect, coupled with the fact that I have complained no less than 85 times, and have been brutally rebuffed each and every time as the hideous noise continues. I can’t understand how any decent parent would let their children run around and produce that kind of noise on a daily basis. How do they themselves even tolerate it?
Other things that immediately push my buttons are loud talkers, close talkers, soft talkers (unless they are Pirates!), people walking four across on the sidewalk and expecting you to move so that their party doesn’t have to break stride (WTF, people?), folks who block the aisles in the very narrow grocery store, and individuals who have no sense of their presence in the world– like how do they not know that their backpack is essentially part of them when they swing around and almost knock you over while you’re waiting on line at Starbucks? And I just loooove people who tell you to calm down when they have no idea why you’re even upset! I want to scream back, “Do not tell ME to calm down, sweetheart!” But then, yeah, I look like the crazy person… again.
I recently heard the expression “smell the flowers and then blow out the candles.” It’s of course another way of saying stop, take a deep breath, calm down, and then exhale… but it sounds a lot more palatable to me when there are candles and flowers involved. But if you say that around my Mom, she’ll think birthday cake, which might mean ice cream, so beware of the incoming “Oooooo!” Yeah, we’ve all got her number now.
jenslittleblackbook.com 