You know how I know I read too much historical fiction as a child? Because I worry about weevils. Does anyone even know what those are besides me and Jeff Shara?
I have a drawer in my desk that it full of all of life's essentials (when you work the hours I do anyway). Inside is a bag oatmeal, granola, ground coffee, a french press, spoons and other plastic utensils, agave syrup, crackers, peanut butter and red wine vinegar (because they only have balsamic in our cafe and I can only handle so much of that).
At least a few times a week it crosses my mind, what if there's weevils in my oatmeal? I'm not worried about ants, or other normal bugs, no, my concern is expressly limited to bugs best known for inhabiting the flour supply carried by civil war soldiers. I promise you that everything in my desk is sealed up tight; I even have a proper air-tight canister for my coffee. But I can't stop thinking about this.
All the Little House books are definitely to blame along with L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables series. Gone with the Wind holds some of the responsibility as well. I must have read that at least 19 times before graduating high school.
While I have managed to let go of all the other weird stuff I picked up from these books -- yes I desperately wished I lived in the 1880s for like 5 years of my pre-adolescence --I don't think this one irrational concern is ever leaving me.
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