All That Glitters

I was a bit of a tomboy growing up.

Hard to believe I know, given my penchant for high heels, jewellery, hair and cosmetic rituals (for those who don’t know me too well, that’s sarcasm right there as it’s a rare event indeed to see me with any of the above, for various reasons).

But I do like bright shiny things.

If it’s a choice between black or colour, I’ll go with the latter (unless I’m trying that old trick of using black to make things look smaller, if you know what I mean), and I do go for glitter. I don’t know if it’s Bowerbird-ism, or a touch of ADD (AKA Attention Deficit Ooh, Shiny!)

Having a 5 year old daughter, it’s a great excuse to pick the pretties- tops, dresses, shoes, and stickers.

My son is really into stickers too, so we have them stuck randomly on doorposts, toilet roll holders, school bags, the dog, not to mention clothing. But it really doesn’t help that when we are standing up it just so happens my bust line is the exact range of my children’s reach…

I’ve lost count of just how many times I’ve trotted off to the shops to do my groceries or banking, and been on the receiving end of a few raised eyebrows. (You can tell the other parents though- they’re the ones who nod and smile when I explain that my kids have been busy decorating me.)

What I don’t like about the shiny/sticky stuff is when it ends up in the washing machine. No matter how many times I remind people to take the stickers off before it hits the laundry basket, I invariably discover it has not happened only after the washer has done its thing (mental note: buy more eucalyptus oil- it works wonders with removing the gunk left behind). Glitter is more of a problem, as it’s usually affixed to the item of clothing, and has to go into the machine as is.

While it’s ok for me to grab a bra or briefs and find them with a little bit of bling they didn’t previously have (I mean to say, they’re not seen by the greater community, and it amuses me knowing it’s there), my Beloved has more trouble accepting the extra accessories. Therefore, with his gear especially, I usually do another run through the rinse cycle if it’s been particularly prettified.

Bowerbird that I am, I recently brought home a darling little nightie for my darling little daughter (couldn’t resist it- brilliant bargain end-of-season markdown that it was). All I can say is: I don’t know how there was any glitter left for anyone else it was sprinkled with so much of the silvery stuff (which is what attracted me, obviously). I’m also sure it came out of the wash barely half the weight it went in since it ditched most of its dazzle during the cycle. Unfortunately I didn’t have the foresight to make sure there was nothing belonging to my Beloved in the same load.

Anyhow, I thought I got it all off again, until he came home from a hard day’s night to inform me he has a new nickname courtesy of our daughter’s inadvertent contribution to his work uniform- the other truck drivers and dockhands apparently think it’s hilarious to call him “Princess”.

Naturally, he doesn’t find it anywhere near as amusing.

“Look on the bright side,” says I (pun fully intended) “your Hi-Vis gear is just more highly visible than the others…think of the OH&S benefits!”

Sad to say, he didn’t think I was too funny either.

Since he knows that he can’t quash our fascination with all that glitters, he has strongly suggested that I triple-check each load of washing before it goes in.

I just as strongly suggested that he could do his own washing from now on.

Personally, I think his preference would be to suck it up and wear his stuff with the occasional sticker or shimmer, over having to sort, wash and fold for himself!

Besides, if it makes people smile to see my strapping-great-truck-driving hubby with some errant sparkles on his shoulders from time to time, then my work here as a fairy godmother is done.

Jx
©2009

45 Odd Socks

There are some questions in life that will never be answered.

One is: How can one small slice of chocolate cake make your favourite jeans shrink overnight?

Another is: Why would a man ever think a ‘comb-over’ is a good look?

But the number one question that seems to pose a problem to households all over the world, since human beings first donned clothing, is: Where do socks go after they enter the washing machine?

It is the bane of my existence as the resident washer woman in this particular household. And I know I’m not alone.

Even for a family of four (occasionally five) there is enough clothing to have me visiting the laundry room every day of every week of every month of every year (sadly there’s no room for a holiday for Good Friday or Christmas Day in this routine). Take one 7 y.o. boy, add a 5 y.o. girl, a truck-driving husband, and occasional visits from a teenager, and there is enough dirty stuff to keep our house in a perpetual cycle of wash-rinse-repeat. And considering I’m the one who goes through the least changes of clothes on any given day, I’m also the one who gets to do the honours (or horrors as the case may be) with the washing. How ironic. (Or should I say ironic?)

Take today’s effort - after an hour and a half of solid sorting and folding, guess what I was left with? Come on say it with me… 45 odd socks.

How does that even happen?

I mean, you buy them in pairs, surely they were both worn at once, and put into the wash at the same time … so how on earth, I ask you, does one end up with 45 odd socks?

And what does one do with them?

Oh sure, I could pair them up creatively and tell everyone we’re rebelling against conformity for feet. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time my Beloved has worn mismatched socks under his work boots (in his defense, black and blue do look pretty much the same at night). I could be crafty and donate them to my children’s school, there’s nearly enough for each kid in each class to make a sock puppet or two.

Or I could do what I always do, throw them into the lost socks basket and hope that one day their partner will show up from wherever it is they went in the wash.

Some of the socks have been waiting for a mate for about 2 years now. In fact, there are some in there without a pair that don’t even have feet to fit anymore (kids do have a habit of growing, don’t they?) And I am positive that some socks shouldn’t even be here- I’m the sole sock buyer for the family and I sure as hell don’t recognise them!

So where do they come from? And where do they go?

There have been many theories. Not all of them scientific. But in the interests of entertainment (for me, even if no one else) I’ll recount a few here.

1. The ol' Black Hole. If indeed there are wormholes sucking up these socks- why would worms want them? They don’t have any feet!

2. Alien abduction. Surely even little green men would like to have two matching little green socks (unless of course they also go for the 'comb-over', then it’s not totally outside the realm of possibility).

3. A sock monster. Seriously, even if I would fall for the first two, there’s just no way I could go for that one. But some people do. Some people are desperate for a sock solution.

Then there are the less-creatively minded, those who have thought long and hard about the enigma that is odd socks; and they have put forward the theory that small items like socks are the main offenders for crawling into crevices in the washing machine. Some have even presented the evidence of stray socks wrapped around the agitator. Well, pooh. Where’s the fun in that?

Whoever these sox offenders are, one thing’s for sure, I will remain forever optimistic and keep dropping strays into the aforementioned laundry basket.

And I live in hope that these 45 odd socks, just like the rest of us, will one day find their solemate.

Jx
©2009