A while back I wrote a post about my mother-in-law’s baseless hatred for mulberry trees. My post was mostly an attempt to understand how someone so nice and sweet could express bottomless rage for such an inoffensive organism (after viewing multiple websites and falling on my head, I’ve developed a theory that it’s the mulberry pheromones that elicit her rage—she smells them somehow). But I think that we all have a mulberry.
Whether you read the post or not, let me clearly define what I mean by a “mulberry.” A mulberry is:
- something you absolutely hate
- something no one else seems to hate
- something that doesn’t deserve to be absolutely hated
- not a pet peeve
Those last two are the most important. Compared to a mulberry, a pet peeve is understandable. Bad drivers, empty milk cartons in the fridge, people who are never on time for any-goddamn-thing: those are all clear offenses. People get pissed off about them to varying degrees, but we’d all agree that they’re annoying. A mulberry, on the other hand, is just a seemingly random target of hate.
Here are a few examples:
Julie’s mulberry: nicknames. She might be a small talk artisan, but you best keep your baby’s cutesy little lie to yourself. If you name your kid Charlie, you better not call him Chuck in front of her.
“What . . . what the f@#k did you just call him?”
She sees no goddamn reason to name your daughter Margaret and then run around calling her Peg. You want to call her Peg, then be an asshole and name her Peg. Enough with this Margaret shit.
I am Jill’s mulberry.
And for me, it’s the Beatles. That’s right! I can’t stand them. The only one I have any respect for is Ringo. He’s like, “Yeah, I’m a drummer in a band. It’s gotten me a lot of this and a lot of that and I get to see the world making my music. It’s pretty sweet!”
But the rest of them are jackasses.
Paul is all like “YOU BOW BEFORE ME I AM A KNIGHT AND THE QUEEN IS ALL GOOEY FOR ME!”
And John was spouting off with “Hey I’m so transcendental, existential or whatever else means ‘not here.’ I’m the goddamn Dali Lama or whatever.”
And George walked around with his Jesus beard being all Jesus-y. Well, he doesn’t walk around anymore because he’s dead.
And I’m like “Go pound it! You’re the Beatles. The only thing separating you from being 4 Biebers is about five decades.” You’d think by now, people would have gotten over the Beatles. We bought Bieber’s album for my niece as a Christmas gift and she was trying to sell it on Facebook by April.
The Beatles made music that some people enjoyed. Or even a lot of people enjoyed. So what? What elevated them to deity status?
“I am the Eggman.” Are you shitting me? People BOUGHT that and are unapologetic about it to this day??
So now that you’re in a froth, keep in mind what I wrote earlier. By my own admission (point number 3) I’m claiming that the Beatles don’t deserve to be hated. It’s my mulberry.