I've been told that when I was about two years old I was in my high chair sitting next to the stove (very small house) and I kissed my reflection in the hot teakettle and burned my lips. My mother always used this story as some kind of warning against self-involvement. I don't remember the incident, but I suspect that I was just trying to kiss the other baby. That rather obnoxious behavior was something my mother always encouraged, in serious conflict with her phobia about germs. I didn't rebel against it until I was several years older.
This is not apropos of anything in particular-just a thought which suddenly came to mind. But maybe it is a clue as to why I'm so weird. I don't know.