Or, "An insight into the pedantry of the perforations"
Yesterday I was visiting my parents and while we were sat having a cuppa we starting talking about the various monikers for the generations: Gen Ys, Gen Xs, Baby Boomers etc.
We established that I am a boomer, but I was interested to hear my father describe his generation as the “frugal generation”. I had heard them referred to as the silent generation but not as frugal.
But it made sense. Because as a generation they were certainly frugal.
Our conversation turned to childhood memories of saving lengths of string and brown paper to reuse, because “brown paper was made to last back then …” I certainly remember the bottom kitchen drawer being stuffed full of all sorts of useful paraphernalia.
The chat then segued into a discussion about the quality of consumables today. Mum said “have you noticed how the perforations on toilet paper are now no longer as good as they used to be – now you don’t get the clean [no pun intended] tear that you used to.”
Well no I hadn’t. But it gave me an opportunity to chime in with my own little perforation peeve.
I needed to open a new box of tissues the other day. I very carefully ran my finger nail around the perforations, because one thing I REALLY loathe and detest is when you tear off the little opening flap and it isn’t a clean tear, and (quelle horreur) you get a rip across the box. OK, I appreciate that this may not be a big thing to many, but to me it offends my sensibilities and, what is more, as I get very few sniffles I have to put up with a torn box for what could be a couple of months.
Dad completely understood where I was coming from and nodded sympathetically, because, like me, he is an editor. Pedant is our shared middle name.
Mum found it all a bit strange: she just suggested I put a tissue box cover over the box to hide the offensive tear. I retorted that she “just didn’t get it”!
It struck me that this gives an interesting insight into the mind of an editor. Each working day we sweat over full stops (periods if you like), fonts, spelling and grammar. We are often dealing in minutiae. And, let’s face it, a full stop is about the same size as a perforation on a tissue box (give or take).
There are other things Dad and I do that demonstrate our keen interest in attention to detail. Dad has the herb and spice rack in strict alphabetical order. I love nothing more than to swap oregano for allspice when no one is looking. And when the ironed tea towels go back in the kitchen drawer the newly ironed ones go at the bottom of the stack and the clean replacement gets taken off the top so they all get used equally in rotation. I won’t give you any more examples because then he will sound weird – and he isn’t at all really!
I remember making a set of six cushions with a large cabbage rose pattern repeat. Each cushion was made with that cabbage rose exactly in the same spot, front and back. And when they were lined up on the sofa they were all lined up with the rose in exactly the same place. I must have wasted heaps of fabric in my quest for cushiony perfection! My (now ex) husband used to come along and rotate one cushion by 45 degrees – and he thought I wouldn’t notice!
I have moved on since then - I am no longer that keen on cabbage roses for a start. And so has my ex husband. Now none of my cushions match because they are all my one-off tapestry designs. But every stitch is in its place, exactly where it should be!
I suppose it isn’t completely normal to be so pedantic but Dad and I can have a good laugh about our idiosyncrasies so I reckon if we can do that then it makes it all OK. And I don’t think we are completely unbearable to live with. I can cope with a bit of dust and I certainly don’t have a showroom house. But I do like attending to the small details.
I bought my husband a book for Christmas as stocking filler: Don’t sweat the small stuff. I didn’t see the supreme irony at the time but I guess it takes one to know one!
Meanwhile, while Dad and I were laughing about our pedantry, Mum went off to hunt out a tissue box cover. “White or cream” she said triumphantly when she came back.
She just doesn’t get it!
