Irrational? Moi? Never. Well, perhaps on the odd occasion.

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We all have our little foibles - things we do that drive other people slowly but surely out of their minds. Yesterday, I delineated some of the habits of others that drive me crazy. Today, it's my turn. Here are the top 5 things that I'm irrational about that probably send other people around the twist.

5. I'm right about everything ... even when confronted with the evidence that proves that I'm actually wrong. For example, on Saturday, the laundry tub flooded as the washing machine pumped out during the rinse cycle, prompting a series of expletives from yours truly. Reaching in to unblock the drain, I found that I hadn't put away the plug from when we'd put ice in the tub for drinks on Christmas Eve, and it had fallen in the sink in order to effectually seal the drain - as plugs are wont to do.

"But I put that away," I shrieked to my mother from the half-inch puddle of water in which I was currently wading. "I remember I put it in the blue and white striped bowl in the laundry cupboard! It wasn't me! It must have been the poultry-geese that lives with the detergent, because I'm always right!"

As I was mopping out the puddle that was lapping at my heels, it was only the prohibitive cost that prevented me from hiring a ghost hunter to prove that I was actually right. In the meantime, I've actually had to accept that in this situation, as I may have been known to be on possibly 5(000000) occasions, the opposite of correct on this one.

4. On occasion, I'm also known to be completely irrational about needles, as evidenced by my second-to-last visit to the phlembotomist. While I've managed to get my fear of them under control when I'm actually receiving an injection, getting me to give my blood away without passing out when I walk out the door of the pathologist's office is another matter altogether.

No matter how hard I try to talk myself out of it, once I lay down on the couch I seemingly can't help being tense. The entry of the needle, small and swift as it may be, brings on a sensation of panic so strong that it would actually be easier for both the nurse and I if I did pass out. My breathing quickens, my muscles contract, and I must look like I'm being given an electric shock as my body spasms into an arched posture, which apparently must be held until the needle is withdrawn and I am down a few red blood cells.

As you can imagine, I dread the embarrassment of being seriously ill and requiring blood work on a regular basis. What a loon.

3. Tasks being completed the way I would like them to be done. There's nothing that's surer to get up my nose than if someone else clean's my lounge room, and puts out linen that (shock horror) does not match. In order not to offend the person who committed such a heinous crime, I spend the whole week until it's time to clean again having to stop my compulsion to change it. I think it must be my inner Bree, but I do love things that coordinate, and I find it really disconcerting when I come up against something that offends my sense of style - particular as I am the ultimate arbiter of all things interior *eyeroll*

2. Tearjerkers. Despite how tough I act, there is very little that can hide the fact that I'm a sucker for a weepy. Put me in front of Miracle on 34th Street, and despite the fact that I don't believe in You-Know-Who, I will dissolve into moist, quivering mass within half an hour. I simply cannot watch anything that tugs at my heartstrings, like the climax of Turner and Hooch, without blubbing.

What makes it even worse is that normally, I'm a pretty tough cookie. I'm also pretty selective about what I'm willing to watch. Yet when I stumble across a cheesy, sentimental narrative delivered in the true Hollywood style that ought to make me cringe, I immediately fall into line and blub like a baby, despite my best efforts to prevent it.

Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I obviously have no taste and I'm happy without it.

1. Finally, my most irrational (and possibly annoying) habit is actually talking (in baby talk, mind you) on behalf of my cats. Yes, I insult their intelligence on a daily basis by putting words in their mouths, complete with ridiculous speech impediments and ludicrous verbage. If I'm not being Fudge one minute, asking for "meats for my teeeeeeeee," then I'm being Jem who is saying "tank you to my nanny for gibing me a tweat."

Honestly, if someone had told me that I was going to prematurely turn into a crazy cat lady by the time I was 37, I would have stopped adopting them years ago for their own sake. What sort of self-respecting cat wants to be subjected to that kind of drivel? I'm surprised that all and sundry haven't simply pull up stumps and left home with their handkerchief bundles of cat biscuits slung jauntily over bamboo poles, in order to find a more rational abode.

Speaking of which, time's a-wasting ... got to go and check to see what kind of mischief the poultry-geese has been up to while I haven't been looking! No doubt he's been changing the linen again, if not lining up Ghost for me to watch on the DVD player. Oh brother, here we go again.