Woe is me. SwampMan ain’t never even conceived of suffering in silence! I’ve been steppin’ and fetchin’ all week to make up for my sin. I’m still feeling a little puny myself. In the meantime, he has left his laundry prominently in front of the door so that I will feel guilty enough to carry it out and do it. So far, I haven’t felt THAT guilty.
I called my mom, and she didn’t know who I was. I identified myself, and she told me that I sounded like an elderly lady of her acquaintance. I knew my voice sounded bad, but I was startled that it sounded like a 90-year-old lady with a cold. She told me that she couldn’t understand what I was saying and recommended that I call back when my voice comes back. I think I was creeping her out.
I *think* SwampMan is nearly well. I still sound like a frog. With emphysema.
I don’t know about y’all, but when I feel ill, I start nesting. I cover myself with blankets and sip hot tea. And I watch videos about sewing and such. Normally, just the sight of a sewing machine is enough to send me yelping to the barn, much like a dog that grabbed hold of what he thought was a domestic kitty cat and finding out he had a bobcat instead. Somehow, when I’m ill, I start having delusions that maybe this one time, I will be able to create a fashion masterpiece using nothing but old blue jeans and stretched out T-shirts. Maybe this time, some talent that nobody believed that I possessed will come bubbling to the surface, much like methane out of a settling pond. People will come up to me asking who my designer is instead of “I can’t believe you put paint on the cat’s paws and made him walk on your shirt”. Hunh. I LIKED that shirt. And it was ink.
So I’ve been watching Threadbangers and had almost convinced myself that I, too, have the spirit of a clothing designer inside of me, but I’m coming down to earth. I’m currently wearing a hot pink, sky blue squirted T-shirt decorated with a bible verse and neon colored flowers and squiggles and polka dots. Nobody has ever asked me where I got such a unique T-shirt because….they know. And they’re probably scared of what is coming next.
I suppose if I can’t impress the neighbors with my (nonexistent!) fashion sense, scaring the hell out of ’em that I might grab a scissors and do some creative cutting on clothing is good enough.
*sigh* The bad thing about Threadbangers is that when you’re young and beautiful, you look good in anything, no matter how butt ugly it is. When you’re old and butt ugly…….hmmmm. Well, I guess that would mean that you would be butt ugly no matter what, so I might as well enjoy myself. Now, where’s my scissors?