November 2, 1999
Bad things happen to good bras. Have you ever noticed that when you’re good at something, or at least perceived as being good at something, the demand for continual performance is overwhelming? I got hit twice today by this yet unexplained phenomenon. And, to top it all off, I witnessed a war of epic proportions within my own home. No wait, let me change that, there were TWO wars. Something ironic about things happening in pairs. And speaking of irony…..
Squidboy, that sweet sugarplum from Ohio, sent me a Halloween postcard! How cute is that? How is this ironic you ask? Well…you see…I had gotten a tad behind on reading squidboy's journal so was catching up last night. In one entry he mentioned a discussion he had with his wife, of Koko fame, about belated Halloween and Christmas cards. I thought the idea had merit.…afterall, one can forget such a holiday just as readily as one can forget a birthday, yes? So, being the clever supporter of all Dan says and does, I wrote back to him, hanging my head in shame, and admitting that I owed him a belated Halloween card. My reason for doing this? Simply because I had not sent him one. Not because I knew he had sent me one, see, I didn’t know he had. I just got it today. And, interestingly, I almost didn’t even know I had received it.
My mail is delivered via my landlady who lives upstairs. She shoots my mail under the door that connects our two places. Today, she must have had an extra dose of Wheaties because the postcard sailed straight through the foyer and into the kitchen where it nestled beneath the portable washer that also serves as a nifty center kitchen island. Not until I was making my way into my office did I notice a corner of something peeking from beneath the dishwasher. Assuming it was a wayward piece of garbage I hesitated even picking it up. But something said, “lean over and pick it up, lazy-bones”. And I did. So the irony? I admitted to owing him a belated Halloween card before I even knew he had sent me one. For this reason alone, I have composed a letter to Hallmark insisting that they devote an entire new line of cards for misfits such as myself.
So, thanks, squiddy, for thinking of me on this, our shared favorite of holidays!
Arlie called me today, before I got home. She left a message on my machine. This, in itself, is no act of amazement, however she made a pointed effort to remind me that Halloween is OVER, dammit, and it’s time to change the hauntingly eerie message I have on my machine. She suggested a Remembrance Day theme. Oh yes, I can hear it now……You have reached….oh I don’t need to tell you, you remember…..leave a message….if I remember how to use my machine I will try and remember to call you back. If I don’t remember, then can you please remember to call me back again?
How’s that Ar??
And then I talk to Shaunie…..she asks what I’m doing for the evening. I tell her I will probably try to write another journal entry…..
YES!!!!!!!!!!! She proclaims.
Sigh….now I have no choice. Next time she asks what I plan to do, I’m gonna tell her I’m going to repave the driveway.
Now for the wars. Two of ‘em in one day…..oh my life is such a roller coaster.
My cat, whom you all met yesterday and probably fell in love with because he’s such a softie, shot that whole theory out the window tonight. There’s a stray kitty that has lived at this house, or so I’ve been told, for years before I moved here. Her name is Marmalade. Took some time to get her to trust me, but she and I are well on the way to achieving a sound “you feed me and I will allow you to touch me for 30 seconds” relationship. Tonight, because it’s cold as all get out, I invited her in. This worked out quite nicely for a while. She tiptoed around the house, sniffing and exploring. She probably weighs about 8 – 10 pounds. Rembrandt, on the other hand, weighs in at a hefty 28 pounds. So he’s shadowing her around the house and isn’t content until he’s cornered her by the back door and has her pinned into a one square foot area, his massive bulk pretty much surrounding her. Not liking the potential outcome of this situation, I pick up Marmalade and carry her into the living room with me. She settles in beside me for a little pat-purr session.
This will NOT do! Rem is pissed.
Needless to say, Marmalade is back outside, and I have some serious cat hair vacuuming ahead of me.
The last war is the one that has me the most perplexed. It happened in my dryer. I have no idea what started the feud, but I can tell you, it got ugly. I’m not one of those launderers that separates delicates from non-delicates. I just chuck everything in together and let them work it out. Today, for whatever reason, a peaceful drying was not to be. When I went to unload the clothes from the dryer it a bra massacre. The other clothing escaped unscathed, but the bras duked it out to the death.
Hooks were snagged in lace, elastic was sprung loose, underwires were snarled together in something that resembled that nasty unraveling of speaker wire. I had to step in and take charge. But the damage was immense. Not one of the three warring sanctions escaped without some form of injury. By the time I managed to divide the mess into three independent articles of lingerie, I was exhausted. I don’t know what could have started the melee, but I can assure you, from this day on, no bra shall share a tub of water and a tumble dry with another. I put them all in a drawer together, though.
I’m now thinking this may have been a grave mistake.
