That one tulip looks like its wiping its face. I thought about going back in and drawing eyes on it — but we have Creative Cloud and when I have Photoshop open my computer runs like it’s stoned so I hate using it. We’re going to give it up when Bob retires and I’ll learn to use something else which I’m sure will go smoothly.
Awhile back, one of the ladies at the retirement home good-naturedly told my dad that people were talking about him.
Later she told him it’s because he irons his jeans.
I shared this with colleague and he told me about a friend of his whose older dad likes good crease in his jeans.
This reminded me of once when I was in middle school, my grandma was staying with us and she ironed a gnarly crease in my jeans.
There was no way I was going to go to school and endure mockery on that scale and for middle school reasons, of course I wasn’t flexible enough to change my plans on what to wear.
I stood there at the ironing board, in my underwear, frantic to get out of the house, sobbing and furiously trying to get the crease out, blubbering with preemptive dread about the field day the kids at school would have with this nerd blunder.
Actually dork. That’s what I said to my grandma, “I’LL LOOK LIKE A DORK.”
She rescued me. She put a damp towel over the crease (a very specific detail I remember 40+ plus years later) and ironed it right out while gently tutting: I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.
Phyllis likes a crease in her jeans. Being an octogenarian is as mysterious as being a middle-schooler.
Speaking of pants, it was first day back after Christmas break, in middle school and I wore my new tri-colored striped pants (very Keith Partridge).
It only took a few classes for myself and so many others that 8 or 9 girls were wearing the same pants. I ran home at lunch and changed because somehow maybe by accient my mom got me girl’s pants?