Tissues, take tissues - well you could take one if you could find the bloody thing. Once upon a time we girls would be able to tuck our hankie into our knickers. Not a good look for an elderly woman to be standing in the street rummaging in her underpants though. Pockets are out, so where do we put the tissue? I stuff mine under a bra strap, which is fine unless you are letting it all hang out, and free falling. One place I am sure to find a tissue? In the washing machine. Glued to every single item, in tiny pieces, inside and out, and guaranteed to hang in there for weeks.
Same with biros, when I come to think of it. The wash. Always in the wash.
I already did my blog about sticky tape - one of my everlasting trauma items. How's about dear old cling film then? My husband told me recently that he didn't know "how to work it". I do understand dear, and sympathise. That sodding stuff - thought I had it all sussed by holding the ends and letting the roll fall towards the kitchen bench? hmm. Only to find one end has stuck and is rolled around the tube 44 times, tearing each time I jerk the stuff. Trying to dig it off the roll results only in a broken cardboard dispenser - which results in not being able to pull the cling off the roll. That little metal cutter from hell is one of my bugbears. Nasty little sucker it is. Lying in wait cackling to itself, just ready to rip hell out of the unwary. So I buy a catering size pack - after all it has a genuine sliding cutter - no jaws on this one. Except you stick it to the cardboard dispenser, and someone managed to get cling stuck underneath - completely covering the sticky part. aaaagh. And cling clings. Know what I mean? Pull it off, perfect length, terrific girl, well done - try to wrap it around selected item. Auuughgh. Bloody stuff clings to itself, your arm, the kitchen bench, anywhere but the 'selected item'. Now it has lost its capacity for cling, having bunched around itself like too-small knickers. Think I might use a plastic bag instead.
The common screwdriver is driving me screwy. Where is it when you want it? There isn't one in the junk drawer where it ought to be, the dog didn't pinch it (I checked). It comes to light only after you have ruined one of your best knives, having snapped off the point trying to unscrew that stupid screw. My little screwdriver is amazing bwaahaaa - it has a handle and four different shafts with 2 sizes of head for slotted screws and those other pointy thingy screws. Right? So YOU try to get the shaft into the handle. That's your challenge for this week. Then once you have it in and find it is the wrong bloody size for the screw, try to get it out of the handle again. Now where are the pliers?
Oh! You want to hear about my little fuzzy balls? Right! Pack of twelve they come in, superb little washing machine helpers that are supposed to collect fluff, lost tissues (see above), dog hair and the like. All very well and good. Every time I empty the washing machine I have to count the bloody balls to make sure they are all there. There is always one missing, I kid you not. Shake every item, and shaking a wet doona/duvet cover is not easy. I lost a ball for a week once. It was down inside a pillow case. That was a very rude awakening, I can tell you. Those little things are prickly. Thought I had a massive beetle under my ear. I can think of nicer things..........
|My little fuzzy balls|
I guess the moral of the story is to buy handkerchiefs, plastic bags, strong steak knives, and fabric softener. Goodbye trauma, hello serenity.