The weekend is like the chorus to the song we sing throughout the week. We all know how it goes from here. Everyone now!
And there's laundry and cleaning and shopping. Take out the trash. Wipe out the sink. Vacuum the floors -- unless they aren't too bad and then ignore the floors. Walk to the library. Browse for an hour. Take all those books home that you know you'll never finish before they are doooOOOOO!
Then the week starts over again, and it's pretty similar to other weeks, with the same sort of music going on and the same beat. But nothing is so much the same as the weekend. Everyone!
And there's laundry and cleaning and shopping. Take out the trash. Wipe out the sink. Vacuum the floors. Walk to the library. Return last week's books. No new books this week -- oh except that one over there and that one over there and ooooooOOOOOO!
And with that we're ready for Monday again, with school and work and daily things to do. And while the music is lovely and has a nice rhythm, you know we're all waiting for the weekend. Everyone!
Oh there's laundry and cleaning and shopping and trash. Wipe out the sink. Clean the floors. Scrub out the bathrooms extra well this time because you know you didn't clean the shower last week. Then walk to the library -- see how the sun shines? -- and browse through the stacks. Swap the werewolf book for a mystery and ignore the fact that there are still six unread books at home that are not yet dooooOOOOOO!
It's no wonder we can't wait for weekends, when the chorus is so catchy. It sticks in your head. And though you bounce along to the verses, you know you're just waiting for Friday evening. One more time!
There's laundry and cleaning. Walk to the grocery store. Take out the trash before you pull off your shoes. Then wipe out the bathroom and vacuum the floors. The library opens at two o'clock. So pack the bag full of the books to return and walk through the sunshine to the library doors. Sit inside for an hour to start reading a new book that caught your eye, even though you are one third of the way through three books still at home. Then check out three more because three is such a great number. Can't wait until next weekend when a while new pile of books will be DOOOOOOoooooo.
The lady on the bus will ask me on Monday what I did on my weekend. And I will begin to sing, Oh!
There's laundry and cleaning and groceries and shopping. The trash and the bathroom and skipped vacuuming the floors. Walk through the park through the sunshiny streets to the public library. Swap four old books for three new--oooooooooooOOOOOOO!
Sunday, October 13, 2019
Sunday, October 6, 2019
Buying jeans
It had to happen.
I had three pairs of jeans, but one pair had a hole ripped in the bum, and one was so old there was no more bum. And the third was a pair of skinny jeans I bought a couple of years ago just to be done buying jeans that made me look lumpy in all the wrong places.
I decided to be strategic this time.
Rather than standing in the dressing room trying variations on low-rise, mid-rise, mommy-rise, ripped thighs, curvy thighs, fat thighs, boot cut, skinny cut, short cut, dark black, dark blue, dark gray, faded, acid washed, distressed, muffin top, high pockets, girl pockets, no pockets....
This time I would instead try on all the jeans already at home and decide which ones were for me.
First I tried on my own jeans, and they were Too Small.
Then I tried on Tim's jeans. And they were Too Big.
So then I snuck into Jonathan's room and stole a pair of his jeans out of his drawer. And they were Just Right.
I used to be jealous of friends who could share clothes with their daughter. But not anymore. Who needs a daughter for that? And it turns out that boy jeans have deep pockets that can even hold a phone without it riding up your butt and falling into the toilet when you forget to take it out before unzipping in the public restroom. Plus, I knew exactly where I had bought those jeans for him.
So Saturday morning, early, I took the tram up to the city and pulled five pairs of jeans off the shelf on the men's floor, stood in line at the dressing room, ignored all the funny looks by the other teenage boys in line for said dressing room, pretended not to see the raised eyebrows of those dressing room attendants, and found, out of the five, two perfect pairs of jeans. Black and dark gray. Skinny but not lumpy. With pockets.
Hoping this means I can go another decade without buying jeans again.
I had three pairs of jeans, but one pair had a hole ripped in the bum, and one was so old there was no more bum. And the third was a pair of skinny jeans I bought a couple of years ago just to be done buying jeans that made me look lumpy in all the wrong places.
I decided to be strategic this time.
Rather than standing in the dressing room trying variations on low-rise, mid-rise, mommy-rise, ripped thighs, curvy thighs, fat thighs, boot cut, skinny cut, short cut, dark black, dark blue, dark gray, faded, acid washed, distressed, muffin top, high pockets, girl pockets, no pockets....
This time I would instead try on all the jeans already at home and decide which ones were for me.
First I tried on my own jeans, and they were Too Small.
Then I tried on Tim's jeans. And they were Too Big.
So then I snuck into Jonathan's room and stole a pair of his jeans out of his drawer. And they were Just Right.
I used to be jealous of friends who could share clothes with their daughter. But not anymore. Who needs a daughter for that? And it turns out that boy jeans have deep pockets that can even hold a phone without it riding up your butt and falling into the toilet when you forget to take it out before unzipping in the public restroom. Plus, I knew exactly where I had bought those jeans for him.
So Saturday morning, early, I took the tram up to the city and pulled five pairs of jeans off the shelf on the men's floor, stood in line at the dressing room, ignored all the funny looks by the other teenage boys in line for said dressing room, pretended not to see the raised eyebrows of those dressing room attendants, and found, out of the five, two perfect pairs of jeans. Black and dark gray. Skinny but not lumpy. With pockets.
Hoping this means I can go another decade without buying jeans again.
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