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In about an hour I’ll be working out. Jogging. Ick.
Maybe writing in the afternoon isn’t such a good idea. Yesterday I wrote in the morning and felt like I didn’t have much to say; now it’s afternoon and I have less to write about. Maybe it’s because I spent the whole day working on my web pages. Basically that’s like not even living. It’s interesting, but there is no one here to interact with and it’s just the same stuff over and over. I guess I made some phone calls that I really needed to make but was dreading. I was avoiding them because making them meant commitment to some activity or social thing that I just don’t feel up to now. Some part of me that knows what’s best for me finally kicked in and overruled my slacker, hermit self and I managed to dial the phone and not hang up when the person on the other end answered. The result? Now I owe money and I have someplace I have to be every Tuesday. Nice.
I guess I did iron that heap of clothes in the spare room. Most of the pile was clean stuff that spent too many hours squished in luggage. These days I iron a lot more than I ever have in my life. Obviously I have more time, but I also feel like I have to be more aware of how I present myself. I mean, I’m not rich but I meet people in this country who are and I find that ironed Gap trousers look a lot better than un-ironed ones. As if I should care, but I do. Which reminds me:
I learned an interesting lessen in laundry while I was home. I have this cool long dress that Dave refers to as the "brown bag," so that he can say to me when I wear it: "Brown baggin’ it today?" It does kind of look like I’m wearing a sack, which is the whole purpose. I can throw that thing on, eat a dozen Thanksgiving dinners, and not feel a thing. It’s awesome. Well, I was sportin’ it one day toward the beginning of our trip and ended up having a horrible stain day. Not only did I drip food (hot chocolate and salad oil) but I shut it in the car door twice leaving two distinctive grease marks. I thought I’d never be able to wear the thing again and figured my only hope was the trusted Cleaners up by Mary and Wayne’s house. I forget the street name, but it’s the one that runs up from Roanoke and eventually into Broadway.
To make a long uninteresting story short: The only stain the cleaner could remove was the salad oil. Everything else was still there only a tad faded. I remarked about the stains and mentioned that one of them was hot chocolate that I was sure I could’ve gotten out if I’d done it myself. "Would you like us to try again?" Damn straight!
Oh - I forgot to mention that when I first took the dress into the shop I told the guy behind the counter that I usually launder the thing MYSELF, but that I was now in a hotel and I didn’t trust those guys with anything so I just brought it in with my dry-cleaning. This is important because when I went back to pick it up after the second cleaning the woman who owns the joint says she didn’t launder it again because it would discolor the fabric. I expressed disbelief that they couldn’t remove hot chocolate stains from basic cotton linen. She said, "Oh, well if I’d had permission to launder it I could’ve done it." Hello! Didn’t I tell the guy that I had laundered it myself? Didn’t they have my phone number to call me and ask?
All of this took over a week and it was just one day before we were to fly out. She tells me to wash it as soon as I get home, which I did. And you know what? The hot chocolate stain came out and the two grease stains are nearly undetectable. Thing is, this little lesson cost about $15.
Oh God.
It’s time to jog.
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