Unspectacularness

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I'm taking up a tag from GiGi called Unspectacularness.

The rough guide is to list six unspectacular things about yourself. I can only think of three, so I'm going to wander off onto some unspectacular speculations. (try saying that three times fast!)

First thing I thought of was how when I was young I thought the word extraordinary meant something extra ordinary -something more ordinary than even everyday ordinary - spectacularly ordinary.

I suspect unspectacularness is a lot like extra-ordinary. It's those tiny little things that mean nothing until you stop and notice them.

It's the light you see in a person's eyes when their heart smiles at you. It's that something that makes an ordinary girl invisible in a crowd, except to the one man who loves her. It's the way every newborn baby looks like a blob to everyone except its parents. It's the whiskers on a rabbit, dandelion seeds in the wind and the ten million colours in a handful of sea sand.

Spectacularly ordinary.

So what are my few meagre claims to unspectacular fame?

1. I hate making icing (frosting). I like eating it, I don't really mind baking the cake, I just hate making icing and I hate putting it on the cake. It's messy, it never goes where I want it to and worst of all - it is STICKY. It sticks where I don't want it to stick - on me.

2. I am deeply unspectacular with clay. My pottery classes finished with an assignment to create something based on ancient art. Other students made clay gods, urns... I decided to make an oil lamp. When it was done our lecturer looked at it and said, "Why did you make a soup jug?" :-\

3. I sing really bad when I'm happy and really good when I'm sad. Sad just seems to deserve more respect and effort than happy, I guess.

This last one proves my theory that the miracle of unspectacularness lies in how the ordinary is noticed. At college I sang badly with a friend = our class mates left the room. In my first month of marriage I was caught singing badly by my new husband... who rolled about laughing in sheer delight at how incredibly cute I was.

Admittedly, after six years of hearing me, he sometimes get this slight look of pain when I'm singing my happy songs. Unspectacularness doesn't last forever. It's the beauty in a simple mundane moment. Its whole charm lies in the fact that it is fragile and fleeting... unlike my soup lamp that weighed a ton and was labelled a lethal weapon by my fellow students.

So what are your list of favourite unspectacularnesses? ;-)