“I don’t know where he gets it from” she said half laughing. “My son shakes in front of the mirror watching the creases in his pants and how they sway. If they move too much get thee to the cleaners! It’s not me and it’s definitely not my husband.” We were talking in the teachers’ room about our children’s fashion sense and where they pick it up.

We laughed at the image of her teen and the next teacher told of her 18-month-old with no hair to speak of gazing adoringly in the mirror smoothing out her “tresses” with a brush. The talk reminded me of someone else — my little brother-in-law.

At 19 he’s super put-together and polished. I always wondered what it was that made his lines so crisp; it couldn’t just be his Brooks Brothers collar-stays because my husband has those too. Then one Shabbos meal while waiting for my husband to finish washing and return to the table I observed his preoccupation with his shirt cuffs.

He tugged at them a little one edge of the cuff was a millimeter off and not completely aligned with its counterpart. He adjusted it then readjusted his cuff links which had moved a “ma — she —hu” in the tweaking. It took seconds but in that moment I knew that I would never be it. I would never be super-polished and sophisticated with my sheitel perfectly coiffed.

And then there’s my sister-in-law who I love dearly but who really solidified my despair of ever being the enviable “How does she do it?” Superwoman. Shortly before her wedding she gave me a tour of her soon-to-be-inhabited apartment. It was brand-new and pretty even without her little touches. I really liked her kitchen; there was a lot of counter space and two sinks none of which my own apartment possessed. I absentmindedly reached for the faucet to turn on the water.

“Don’t ” she said quickly.

“What? Why?” I asked. “Worried about water bills already?”

She laughed “No it’s just that I dried the sink before you came and I don’t want to do it again.”

I scrunched up my eyes in confusion.

“Dried the sink?” I wasn’t familiar with the concept. Wiping yes; drying no. And I’d been running my own kitchen for a very long time by then: six months.

“Yeah I don’t like water droplets in the sink so I dry it.”

I knew then that my kitchen could never look like hers.

Yes if I choose to I could dry my sinks too using extra-strength Bounty paper towels (I do on occasion it makes such a difference it’s crazy). And if I were a man I could sway in front of the mirror and realign my cuff links. But it’s all ex post facto. I watched others do it saw the results and I’m just imitating. I’d have never thought of it on my own. And the thing is — they didn’t think of it either; it came naturally.

These small idiosyncrasies weren’t planned, developed, and executed. They evolved out of the person’s need: a need for presentation, for cleanliness, for structure and symmetry. There’s a kind of neuroticism they possess for the areas they excel in, an attention to detail that the average person would never even think to address.

And I’m not that.

Or maybe I am, I realized after I received quite a few phone calls that sounded like this:

“Esther, who was the War of Roses between?”

“Esther, what did Kurt Vonnegut write?”

“Esther, where in the world can you mine jade?”

“Esther, what’s the difference between Tylenol and Advil, and should I care?”

It’s mostly friends and family who call me about their or their children’s homework. I’m not sure why they call me — a quick Google search would suffice — but I am the go-to useless knowledge person. If it serves no practical purpose in your life, but can be considered interesting by a very low standard, it’s likely that I know it.

Do people look at me and wonder, “How does she know all that?”

I don’t know, but I’ll tell you the answer: I just do.

So is that what other people experience when we gaze at them in astonishment and thinly veiled green eyes: just the wonder of them being themselves?

(Originally featured in Family First Issue 546)