I know, it's shameful. I mean, who doesn't like whistling? It's akin to not liking puppies, or rainbows. But I can't help myself - I hate it when he whistles.
And the worst part is, it's not even like The Uptight Yankee engages in tuneless, absent-minded whistling through his teeth, or anything excruciating like that.
No, instead, he whistles along with the music. The nerve of that man.
It just keeps getting worse - I reveal new depths of my pathological pickiness with each word that I type!
But I can't help it - we'll be listening to a perfectly good song - Peg from Steely Dan, or maybe Folsom Prison Blues from Johnny Cash, and he'll just start whistling and I'll think to myself: "You're ruining it for me!" But I don't say anything - how could I? He's so happy, I can't possibly say anything.
It's an indefensible position, being against whistling. But there you have it: I hate it when he whistles.
