I have two utterly irrational pet peeves. I don’t know why. Being poked, and listening to people whistle.

I can’t stand being poked. It makes me want to do violence to people. And I have no idea why. Maybe it’s passive-aggressively timid and invasive at the same time? I don’t know. All I know is it makes me crazy. It makes me even more crazy when I tell people that it makes me crazy and then they think it’s funny to stand there and poke me with a stupid grin on their face. (As a friendly tip — do not ever do this to me. I will genuinely become angry with you.)

Whistling also makes me insane. I don’t know why. There’s no reason for it. As a small child, when the Andy Griffith Show would come on right after I Love Lucy, I would leap up and rush to the TV to turn the dial. (Once upon a time, children, televisions had dials). There is someone — I don’t know who — whistling somewhere at their desk here in the office right now and typing this blog post is the only thing keeping me from pelting them with used tea bags.

There is no rational origin for either of these pet peeves. Yet they are etched into my brain as the perfect triggers for annoyance. I can think of no childhood trauma, no direct cause for these. I’d be happy to hear any theories. Just please, please, for the love of Mike, don’t poke me while whistling.