Perhaps it’s because I had a birthday this month, another step toward Old Fartesshood, (you’ll figure it out; I have confidence) that I have a few things I want to get off my chest.
Before you ask… no, I am not going to buy an underwire bra.
Sometimes, it’s the little things….
The Scarfette mystery remains unsolved. Although you were kind enough to check some of the 28,000 scarfette Google links, any use for the ones I have still eludes me. Without ripping out a seam or sewing them together, there is no way they’ll fit on a head.
At least I think I could find their phone number! Our phone company gives us two phone books–The Real Yellow Pages and the real teeny-weeny yellow pages, the latter having no reasonable purpose at all–they can’t even raise grandkids to the proper sitting height at the table.
We no longer receive White Pages with personal names and addresses–just a note that if we want white pages, we must order them.
Why would they think we wouldn’t want white pages? Finding personal phone numbers and addresses online is frustrating. 411.com, whitepages.com. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. What do you use?
Besides the real and the teeny-weeny, we receive a third commercial directory called Yellow Book. How unoriginal! What’s needed is an Easier Place to Find People and Businesses book. And it shouldn’t be yellow.
Now, onto itchy bitchy printed matters concerning fabrics….
OSHA needs to beef up its regulations and require that clothing tags be made of something besides steel wool. Those thick, scratchy labels either stick out of my top or curl up on the nape of my neck, looking like a mouse hiding beneath my blouse.
Also, is it too much to ask that sheet manufacturers print the size of sheets somewhere on the darned things? I’m certain we’re not the only ones with different-sized beds in our home, yet none of the sheets have sizes printed on the labels. I either have to remember what is what (not going to happen) or unfold them. Am I missing something, or are the sheet manufacturers?
Finally, speaking of the printed word… if Dearly Beloved positions his bifocals like this for reading, isn’t it time for new glasses?