. . . the Sox-loving neighbors come over with brooms to make goat noises at you after the Cubs get swept in the play-offs.

As the (sometimes proud) owner of a very obsessive-compulsive personality, I find great pleasure in establishing traditions with family members and friends. Routines and patterns make the world go 'round. In a perfect circle.

One of my favorite new traditions involves glorious amounts of gluttony, which would be extremely embarrassing if I hadn't been raised on a diet of chocolate, pizza, and chocolate milk.

My mom and I are both employed by our church, which is a relatively relaxed and pleasant work environment. However, we're still completely wiped at the end of the work week, usually because we've both put in almost twice as many hours as are written on our time cards. Obviously, the correct way to reward oneself for hard work is to shove tasty food down one's gullet.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is exactly what we do.

Every Friday, my mom and I come home, get changed, and head out to Panera, where I treat her to dinner. Then, we walk across the parking lot to the local grocery store, where she treats us each to a pint-sized container of ice cream. We take these home, scrounge up some spoons, and plop on the couch in her bedroom. She and I snuggle under some blankets and feast upon thousands and thousands of delicious calories while watching What Not to Wear.

It's heavenly and sinful all at once.

Soon, I will be sporting a (completely symmetrical) gut as punishment for this ritual, but it's totally worth it in my book. After all, it's tradition!

My dad drove me to work this morning. I was running late, so I dashed out the door with shoes and earrings and keys in hand, banana in mouth, and unhappy words in mind. I managed to squish everything in the car except for one renegade shoe, which decided it wanted to live on the driveway. Under the car.

Me: "Oh, shoe!"
Dad: "Sounds like a good children's story. The Shoe That Got Away."
Me: "Actually, I think it was something about a little old lady who lived in a shoe."
Dad: "Sure. You could be boring and mundane like that. I, on the other hand, like to be hip and cool."
Me: "Pfft. Now that you have this new TV, you think you're cutting edge, huh?"
Dad: "Yeah. Adam and I watched the Cubs lose last night on the new forty-screen inch uhh . . . LCD TV."
Me: ". . . For the record, that would be 'forty-inch screen.'"
Dad: "What did I say?"
Me: "'Forty-screen inch.'"
Dad: "Oh. Well. That's texting shorthand for 'forty-inch screen.'"