Does this happen in your house? You wash the towels so they’re clean and yummy smelling, dry them with softener sheets so they don’t scratch and are even more yummy smelling and put them in the bathroom all pretty, like this (if you’re hanging them on a hook):
or like this, if you’re hanging them on a towel bar:
and you walk in to discover this (yes, I’m sharing it again because – oy vey! – I can’t stand it!)
My sons do this. My late husband did this. My ex-husband did this. Why can men not hang towels properly? I know, I know. First world problems. And maybe it’s only my problem and no one else in the first world or any world cares. But it drives me crazy. Not nearly as crazy as finding wet towels on or under the bed (eh hem, CB), but still.
So I ask you, does this happen in your house? And, more importantly, do you care? If you do, what do you do? Refold and rehang them all the time (as I do)? And if you don’t care, how did you achieve such nirvana? Honestly, I need to know. Thanks!
It’s not jeans weather yet, but it will be. With the heat we’re having, anything heavier than shorts might not be necessary until November, but eventually jean season is going to arrive and, as I promised myself in June when I popped out of the last pair that fit, I’m going to be ready.
God, I miss Tostitos
A month ago I gave up Tostitos, resumed drinking three or four liters of water a day, and started speed walking again. I returned to lifting weights and doing sit-ups, too, and frankly, I thought I’d see more improvement by now. But no. My muffin top and bulging belly refuse to depart my person, and this does not bode well for the Hollisters I have to, have to, have to! fit in by the fall, whenever it arrives.
Time to get creative…and cheat
As it’s now early August, it’s not looking too promising that I’ll keep the promise I made to myself and so, rather than break that promise, grab a bag of Tostitos and have a pity party, I decided I’d try to cheat the system, if not my scale.
This morning I threw my favorite jeans in the wash and, when they were done, I put them on. (One at a time, of course. Two or three at once and I’d have died of suffocation and possibly hypothermia.) I walked around, squatted, did lunges, yanked at the waistband, squatted some more, and stared at myself in the mirror. “This could work,” I thought. “I must post to my blog of my brilliance!”
But first I needed an image to go with my post
Sure, I could have taken a photo of myself in my aforementioned freshly washed Hollisters, but why frighten people? Instead I went to Google, clicked on “images,” and typed the words “wearing wet jeans.”
BAM! Hundreds upon hundreds of sites dedicated to helping people squeeze their butts into their favorite jeans popped up. It was quite the blow to my brilliance; my trick was taken! I was so disappointed, I nearly called my mother. In fact, I still might. But not before sharing the details of my discoveries.
There’s four methods to this madness
The bathtub method – Squeeze into your jeans and get in the tub. If they’re really tight, like mine are, you might have to sort of roll in, on your side, so be careful. There’s no sense drowning in pursuit of the perfect fit. Soak your jeans. Then get out, towel off, and stretch those suckers.
The spray method – Squeeze into your jeans, lie down on your bed and button them (ouch!). Then use a spray bottle filled with warm water to soak the waistband. Wear the jeans until they dry or rescuers arrive to help you stand up.
The hanger method – Soak the waistband then stretch it from one side of a wooden hanger to the other. It needs to be nice and taut so if it isn’t, go get a bigger hanger.
The put-in-a-panel method – This is where you take your jeans to the tailor and have a panel put in the waistband to expand it. I don’t particularly care for this method as desperately trying to squeeze into my too tight jeans is something I prefer to do alone with my shame and sharing that shame with someone else is too traumatic.
The moral of the story?
Be careful what you go Googling for. You might find your brilliant idea’s been taken, your jeans still don’t fit, and your favorite crappy snack goes great with your morning coffee.
Sometime ago when I was telling my friend Laura about how painfully slow my writing days can be because I fuss over every single sentence, she said, “You know, Susan, perfect is the enemy of good.” I was very impressed. What a fabulous, accurate statement, I thought. Why can’t I ever come up with a quote like that?
Then I discovered she stole it from Voltaire.
I wasn’t too disappointed Laura hadn’t come up with it on her own because she’s one of those brainy types who’s actually read Voltaire so she came by it honestly. Not me . If I discovered that quote you can bet I did so on Facebook or Pinterest or some other non-smartypants site.
It’s true though: Perfect is the enemy of good.
If I could tap out 500-1000 good words a day, I’d be in great shape. But no. I fuss and play with and torture myself over every single solitary word in a sentence to the point that I never, ever end up with enough sentences to show for the writing time I set aside.
Procrastination and distraction are formidable foes as well.
When I write, I start with all good intentions. I open a new Word document, stare at the empty whiteness, and flee immediately to the safety of the Lifestyle section on MSN.com. Of course, I need to read the “Top 25 Ways to Look Younger” before I write a word. I’m 57 and if one of those ways is cut off your head and replace it with Meghan Markle’s, I’m in. And then of course there’s “Best Hair Growth Treatments.” Another must-read. Every single day I wonder if I should let my pixie grow out or keep it short. Which will make me look younger? Ah, maybe the answer’s in that Top 25 feature.
Distraction. Procrastination. And trying to make Every.
Single. Sentence. Perfect. Oh yes, I know how to do the writing thing. Or, more
accurately, how to delay doing the writing thing.
One of these days I’m going to let go and let good happen. Progress, not perfection will be my mantra. And I promise to keep you posted on how I’m doing. As long as I don’t get distracted.