A wise man once said, “Peeves make poor pets.” That being said, most of us have pet peeves. Sure, some of us refuse to call our minor annoyances “pet peeves,” but all of us have these minor annoyances.

My wife’s biggest pet peeve is people who walk through the kitchen with muddy boots. People who don’t put their dishes in the sink is another pet peeve. And people who put an empty container back in the fridge set her pets to peeving. When she says “people,” she really means “her husband.” I am perhaps her biggest pet peeve. This may be the best argument for marriage. I have a legally binding contract requiring my wife to put up with her pet peeves.

Some people have food-related pet peeves. A popular pet peeve is vegetables on pizza or a hamburger. Main dishes and side dishes should not mix – that’s another pet peeve. Ketchup on steak? That’s not just a pet peeve, that can end a friendship.

Have you ever felt your pets peeving while driving? I contend that most of us have pet peeves when we share a road with another human being. My biggest pet peeve is people that drive slowly but speed up at a passing lane, especially when I am behind them. What could possibly compel someone to do this? Do they aspire to be a grand marshal in some prominent parade, and this is the closest they ever get? Or are they practicing for a stock car race, carefully exploring the intricacies of drafting with other cars? The best explanation is they are an ignoramus defined by their narcissistic zeal for self-adoration.

Parking lots have a way of spawning pet peeves. I typically drive a long vehicle, so obviously my pet peeve is perpendicular parking. With a sedan or a minivan, the 90-degree turn into two parallel lines is difficult. With an extended cab with a long box, it is virtually impossible. However, perpendicular parking is surprisingly not a pet peeve of mine. I always park angled in a perpendicular parking space, and I humbly invite the rest of the world to join me. If your pet peeve is people using two parking spaces, adjust your thinking 45 degrees and appreciate the brilliance of this nonconformist. There’s plenty of room next to me, at an angle.

Driving tends to bring out the worst in a person. In the same way that hammering shoes on a horse can make the most pious person curse like a '90s rap star, driving can expand even my sweet mother’s vocabulary. Have you noticed that everyone on the road is a terrible driver; except you, of course? You drive down the highway at 62.3 mph and everyone that drives slower than you is a moron and everyone that drives faster than you is a maniac. And no one else drives 62.3 mph.

I find myself in a similar situation with farm equipment on the highway. If I get stuck behind a farm implement for more than 12 seconds, I will become irrationally irritated. Isn’t there some other route they can take, like a route I’m not on? I fume impatiently until mercifully, the farm machine pulls off and lets me pass.

Conversely, there is a 5-mile stretch of the Three Creek Highway that connects two of the hay fields I harvest every summer. There is no other route, and the shoulder is steep for most of it. If a car approaches from behind, they will follow me at 17 mph until I get to a turnout. I have seen it all from drivers behind me: horn honking, light flashing, one guy even flipped his windshield wipers on in the hopes of speeding me up. “Maniac!” I say to myself as the irate driver passes.

I understand the frustration. Driving 30 mph instead of 50 mph for 1 mile takes an extra 48 seconds. The driver could be 48 seconds late for work. Or more likely, the driver will arrive 48 seconds later to home and will lose 48 seconds of a doom scroll on the twitters. Perhaps, in an ironic twist of fate, they will be 48 seconds late to a grocery store to peruse and purchase the most abundant food supply in the world. Oh, the inconvenience.

Perhaps another 45-degree shift in attitude may assuage this pet peeve of following farm machinery. Farm machinery could be a grand marshal in a food/farmer appreciation parade. The drivers following the farm machine could turn on their hazard lights as a show of support. When you arrive at your destination, brag to everyone of your small contribution to ensuring the food supply. It’s not the days and months of back-breaking work that a farmer endures, but be proud of your 48-second sacrifice.

When it comes to slow-moving farm machinery, can we finally spay or neuter that pet peeve? Let’s save our pet peeve for more important matters … like ketchup on a steak.