Tag: bedroom

The fine art of double-standard


High expectations rule in my world. But do I have the right to hold others to the standard? Especially since I so often fall short?

You know what I mean. We have ideals. Things are important to us – and other people should value them, too.

Or should they?

Rewind to my post about wedding traditions.

Was it okay for me to expect people to dress a certain way for the small ceremony? After all, I didn’t feel it was right for someone else to judge me based on what I was wearing.

This double-standard isn’t reserved for special events. We operate in its shadow every day.

A few examples

  • Conservation of natural resources is important – but I drive a gas-guzzling SUV
  • It’s unhealthy not to eat fruits or vegetables at every meal – and I have cheese and crackers
  • Communication is essential to any relationship – but when was the last time I really listened to my sons?
  • Surfing the net or checking Facebook while “on the clock” is the same as stealing from your boss, but I’m taking a break here in my home office

Why this bothers me

I believe in freedom of choice. For everyone. I also believe a true standard of right and wrong exists, and that we’ll all be held accountable for how well we matched it.

I’m not the judge of that standard, however.

Most days I can’t even reach the bottom of its loftiness while standing on tiptoes on the step ladder.

Why do I expect others to measure up?

Is it wrong to have a standard? Or does the problem come when I expect other people to conform to my wishes?

The truth

None of us can measure up to the standard. All of us will mess up at one point or another.

I guess we should give up – stop trying to be a better person. That will solve things.

Better yet, we should lower our standards. That way, everyone measures up.

We talk about acceptance, but we still believe our way is right. Is it wrong to have convictions?

What’s wrong is expecting everyone else to have the same standards we hold. Why should they be accountable for meeting them when we stumbled and fell on our face?

In truth, it’s time for people to do a mirror check. And I despise mirrors. I like to think I’m still young and thin. The mirror tells me otherwise.

It should be the same for our standards. Do we expect others to listen to us, but we don’t listen to them? Are we imposing our dress code and moral code on others?

Can you think of a particular time someone’s double-standard shocked, amazed or angered you?

My Regular Wake-up Call

No one should awaken at 3:30 in the morning. Even fewer poor souls need their hair pulled out by the roots to rouse them from slumber.

Someone should tell my cat this.

I am a self-confessed ‘crazy cat lady.’ Only my very un-crazy husband keeps me from populating our house with every stray cat or kitten in the neighborhood.

When I’m away from home, I miss the familiar weight of my cat on my feet. His kneading of my bare arms at midnight? Not so much.


However, if you’ve never had a cat curled up against your side and purring up a storm, you’re missing out. Very few professional massages I’ve had are more relaxing than that feline motorization.

He purrs.

The rumbling starts small and builds to a steady hum. The vibrations resound in my chest like a sustained bass note.

I’m nearly lulled to sleep.

He licks himself

Which of course involves sticking his back foot in my mouth – claws extended. So much for the purr-induced peace. Sleep? That’s been rudely jerked away, as well.

He paces on the pillow

Stepping on my hair so it yanks my scalp an inch away from my skull. He stands there, looking around. I think he knows it causes me pain, so he wants to revel in every moment.

He walks over my stomach

First, he paces all around the bed. How can such a small animal resemble an earthquake on a mattress supporting two adults? Once my eyes are closed, he makes the abdominal cross-over. It’s like being sucker punched.

Yes, Forrest, cat paws pack quite the punch.

He lays on the other side of me

Generally, this involves digging at the covers first. I don’t know why he likes to be under them because he only stays there for a few minutes.

He purrs – again

Lulling me into a false sense of security. Yes, I’m drifting off, soothed by the bass notes vibrating behind my breastbone.

He appears to sleep

And so do I

He licks himself – again

Cats can never get clean enough. Or maybe the purring dries out his mouth and the licking turns the spit-factory on. I don’t know, but if the claws don’t get me, the smacking sound does the trick.

He paces on the pillow – again

Yes, the results of the not-a-cat-walk across the head of our bed are the same. It’s just another moment in which I’m thankful to my mother for yanking on my scalp when I was a child. I don’t feel the pain. Too much.

DSCN0593And when it’s finally time for me to get up, he has curled up close to my side again. He scowls at me in that way only cats can and refuses to move. I move the entire sheet with him hammocked happily within.

Cats. Gotta love them.

What sort of wake up call keeps you laying there in the dark composing blog posts?