I don’t understand the people who use their horn to vent non-specific frustration with traffic at the expense of their fellow urbanites.
I literally don’t understand people who willfully misuse the word “literally.”
I don’t understand the use of abbreviations for the already short names (see: Sophia to Soph, Kathy to Kath, Lisa to Lis, Jason to Jas, Connie to Conn, and those were just a few amongst the most glaring examples and solely from the two syllable names truncated to a single.)
I don’t understand the people who prefer drip coffee to french press.
I don’t understand the guy who just walked by my coffeeshop table; either he’s a late 30something who willfully wears skinny jeans or he’s an appropriately aged hipster who’s just done so much blow that he looks really old… or he’s auditioning costumes for the next holiday. Whatever it is, I don’t understand it.
Speaking of Halloween, let me get started on bashing this poor excuse for women to indulge their inner [choose whatever appropriate and dismissive word that won’t get me in trouble.] I don’t understand why perfectly reasonable women use that evening to simultaneously exercise so little imagination (really, throw the word sexy before any common/proper noun and call it a costume?) and leave so little to the imagination.
I don’t understand why Josh choose Donna over Amy.
I don’t understand why television producers can’t at least put some water in those empty Starbucks cups that their characters routinely carry in a way that lets everyone know that this detail is unimportant.
I don’t understand the people who spend hours listening to political talk radio but don’t vote.
I don’t understand the gravitational pull of reality television, but I really don’t understand why the shows set in DC seem to represent the worst in class (yes, I’m looking at you Real Word, Top Chef, and Housewives.)
I don’t understand the people who pay a premium to drive a convertible yet leave their top up on gorgeous days like today.
I don’t understand the people who proclaim (to anyone within earshot) their disdain for DC yet never leave their tiny and provincial comfort zones, or go to museums.
I don’t understand the nearly universal human desire to pick at wounds both physical and emotional.
I don’t understand how I can think myself so good with words yet be such a poor communicator when it comes to certain people.
“There are many things of which a wise man would wish to be ignorant” Mr. Emerson once wrote; I don’t understand why I am so bad at making those choices.