I bought those special sneaker laces from an ad that promised my kids would never have to tie their shoes again! (My kids broke them in less than a week.)
I bought a snazzy gift-wrap paper cutting tool that said it would both organize my Christmas paper and streamline the wrapping process! (It didn’t fit any of my actual rolls of paper.)
None of these things quite worked out as advertised, as you can see, but I remain a sucker. Hope springs eternal, after all. I read the ads and think to myself, Maybe THIS particular plastic item shipped from a sweatshop in Asia really WILL make me prettier/ happier/more organized. Maybe I really SHOULD buy the pee-proof underwear they keep showing me, and reminding me that it’s great for women of my age.
Yeah, maybe not.
But some of the stuff wish.com advertises really has me baffled. I can’t imagine why anyone would order these things.
In what universe would anyone wear this? Even young Julia Roberts in full Pretty Woman gear wore the same trashy stockings on BOTH LEGS.
What on EARTH could these be for? I don’t think they would fit in my actual mouth and operate as tooth substitutes. And even if they could, why would I need FOUR SETS AT A TIME? This baffles me.
And, finally… #3:
What IS this?!?! What is it FOR? I can’t even.
So, thanks to wish.com, but no thanks. I’ll pass.
Although, I’m still thinking about that pee-proof underwear….
Every time I get in my car, my phone likes to tell me how close I am to my house.
I’m not sure why does this. I’m at the grocery store and I get in my car and look at the phone screen and it says helpfully, “12 minutes to get home; take Washington Road.”
Yeah I’m aware. I drove here myself. From my house. Less than an hour ago.
My 16-year-old daughter Boo has just started driving herself to school. She says her phone has decided that the high school is called “work.” And when she gets in her car in the morning, her phone says helpfully, “Would you like directions to work?”
No, I’m pretty clear on how to get there. I go there every day.
Honestly, I think my phone is just showing off at this point. It just wants me to know exactly how much it knows about me.
It’s got a slightly creepy vibe, like that old song by The Police.
My phone just wants to say, “I know where you live. I know where you work. I know where you are at all times.
I don’t really like the trouble of taking care of, or the mess of cleaning up after, actual, real animals.
I’m not what you might call a “dog person.”
And NO, that does not make me EVIL.
I don’t understand why it’s perfectly acceptable for people to say, “I hate cats,” but if you say you don’t like dogs, you’re suddenly a serial killer.
I like cats. I have a cat. He has dignity. He’s clean. He allows me to feed him, and to pet him if he’s in the mood to be petted, but he doesn’t slavishly follow me about. He doesn’t meet me at the door when I come home; he calmly waits for me to enter the room where he is, and then lifts his head in offhand greeting. “Oh, it’s you again,” he seems to say. “Perhaps if I feel like it you can pet me later.”
Now, I realize some people prefer a dog who will run to meet them with abject joy, seeming to say, “Oh hooray! It’s you! I’ve waited all day to see you! Oh please please please please PLEASE pet me now!” Well, I just don’t care for that sort of an indecent display in my home.
But I wouldn’t say dogs are my LEAST favorite animal. Dogs are okay, in their own way.
I really hate llamas. They are just rude animals. I had one spit in my face when I was feeding him a carrot once. REALLY. Just rude.
My oldest daughter (a true animal lover, unlike her mother) recently bought this picture for her college apartment:
I told her I could not believe she had gotten a picture of my arch-enemy animal to hang on her wall. She KNOWS I hate llamas.
But, she explained, it was an ALPACA.
I said, that’s the same thing as a llama.
But, my daughter is a biology major. She’s planning to go to veterinary college. She knows the difference.
She kindly sent me a helpful chart to distinguish between the two animals.
Now, if that isn’t scientific, I don’t know what is!
I went to the commissary to grocery-shop after a fresh dump of snow recently.
When I arrived, the path I usually take to the door had not been shoveled, but there was a set of footprints on it, going straight for the entrance.
I decided to go that way instead of walking all the way around to where the sidewalk was.
I realized my mistake very quickly, as my legs sank almost knee-deep and snow began to fill my boots. This was not a path! This was a trap!
I lost my footing in the soft snow and fell. I got up. I fell again. I got up and kept walking. There was nothing for it now.
I hoped very much that no one I knew could see me. I bitterly regretted leaving my coat and gloves in the car. The store entrance seemed miles away.
When I finally arrived at the door, which obligingly slid open automatically, just as it was supposed to, I was encrusted all over with a coating of snow. I looked like that kid I blogged about last year. (See “The Boy Who Was Covered in Snow“)
I tried to gather the shreds of my dignity as I brushed snow off my clothes and hair, and tried to scoop it out of my boots. I straightened up and headed into the store.
That’s when I realized I’d left my grocery list in the car.