Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Searching for the key
I believe that the universe gives us important messages. These messages are advice, in a way. Things to do or changes to make or activities to avoid if we know what is good for us. Ignore these messages and be smote. That is not to say that I always realize what is going on or instantly take these hints. Of course not. That would be too easy. And less blogworthy, yes? The recent messages are kind of obscure. I know they have to do with good clothes and splattery substances, but I am not yet sure of the full meaning. Should I stop wearing my good clothes, or avoid any possible substance that might splatter, stain, drip, splash, slop, or plop? Hard to say since the two seem to be intertwined at the moment. First Case in point: Dinner meeting. White blouse that cost a mortgage payment in another life when I spent mortgage equivalent money on white blouses. This piece is a holdover that has timeless styling and thus is always in fashion. Plus a magical cut that always seems to fit no matter how big or small I get. The magical hanky of expensive white blouses, if you will. I wear this blouse when it REALLY matters. Or I should say WORE. How on earth I got a splotch of burgundy sauce on MY blouse when the sauce was not even part of MY dinner I will never understand. And I didn't even notice until I got home and my darling husband asked me who shot me during dinner. Ugh. I practically ran to the cleaners and they did all they could. Think the clothing equivalent of shock carts and CPR. But all the chest pounding and fabric scrubbing and liquid chemicals could do nothing to save it. Almost forgivable, it could have been if I had gotten the job. I chalked it up to bad luck. Second case in point: Lunch with the boss last week. Thank goodness I was wearing a black blouse, but the meal was chinese and each forkful managed to land on my "shelf". Having a manager point to your chest several times to indicate how messy you really eat is a bit humbling. I was starting to worry a bit at that point. Third case in point: Darling piece of angel food cake daughter is painting at the table. She shows me her picture, I ooh and aah appropriately as I put the final touches in dinner. I wash my hands, wipe them on the towel, and continue on. Suddenly I realize my hands feel a bit sticky. They are covered in a pewter gray mess. And it is all over my favourite silk shell (which granted I should have changed out of before starting dinner but still), my dress pants, and the towel I used to wipe my hands. My daughter heard me exclaim, saw the mess, and disappeared like a cartoon cat. She had spilled the paint and used the towel to wipe it up, then hung it back on the stove like nothing happened. Which is a hoot because every other single time she has used a towel she drops it on the floor, never hangs it back up. Between her doing that, Ruby pulling them down to show discontent, and DH knocking them off a large portion of my exercise routine is the rigamarole I have to go through to bend down, pick up the towels, and hang them back up again. When they make towel hanging an olympic event I am SO there. Once again, my cleaner sends his condolences to both pants and top. Fourth case in point (are you starting to see a trend now?): Last night eating crackers and cheese while watching "Top Chef" I decided to try a tube of olive paste that was part of a gift basket a while back. It was a very good addition to my nibblies, except the texture was not as smooth as I expected. The nozzle clogged. I did the worst thing you could possible do - I squeezed harder. SPLAT! The box of crackers, the table, me, the couch pillow, the dog, my pants, my top, absolutely covered in splatters of BLACK OILY olive paste. I was so shocked all I could do was laugh my arse off in shock. Ruby tasted a bit to see if it might be a good idea to clean it for me, but it seems she is not into olive paste. She emitted a very snoopy like "bleah" and moved to a cleaner location. Last case (for the moment): Had an appointment today and by the time I got home I was so hungry I was shaking. Searching for something to give me a quick punch of sugar, I grabbed the pomegranite. I opened it pretty hastily, and of course splattered my top in the process but on the upside it worked every bit as well as orange juice to stop the shakes. Better, I think even. Bah! I exclaimed as I tossed another good shirt into a water soak, hopefully it works (I have had some success with it in the past). A few hours later, wearing a simple t-shirt I ran to get a few things (dog food, lottery tickets for DH's birthday, picked up rain boots for DD we are borrowing for a camping trip). Now, I noticed I was getting odd looks. But I figured it was because it was overcast and I was wearing my sunglasses. I spent most of my day in the basement, natural light seems very bright to my sensitive vampire eyes so if it is daylight I usually need my shades. After I got home and unpacked I decided to put my hair up in a pony tail (some days I have too much hair. Which is odd because I have, like, none - it is so thin and fine). One look in the mirror and I hit the floor laughing. My entire face was covered in red freckles. No, not freckles really. It looked like blood spatter. No wonder everybody gave me the eye, I look like a murder suspect. Now, I haven't included the more trivial episodes. The coffee drips. The pug wiping her face on my shirt. The daughter wiping her hands on my pants (I swear my gravestone will read "I am not a napkin" along with "Be Careful" and "Why don't you TRY to pee before we go?"), the cat coughing up a hairball on my lap, and more. So. What message can the universe be trying to convey? If I don't figure it out soon I may run out of clothes.