Straight Lines and Other Impossibilities

I. Am Taking. A. Quilting. Class.

Are you impressed?

You should be.

Because to be able to quilt, one has to be able to do things like perform math equations and use a ruler and scissors and have a modicum of creative talents.

The first night, I told my friend, who is not in the class but is basically supporting me through it, “I tried to help someone with a VBS project once, but they took the colors from me.”

She glanced up from the blocks of material we had spread before us. “And just what were you doing with the colors?”

“Not staying within the lines, apparently,” I responded.

And then I admitted that I also couldn’t cut a straight line.

She laughed, waved her hand as people do when dismissing a trivial problem.

By the end of the night, however, she was carefully agreeing with me that the pattern of the material was probably “part” of the reason my squares didn’t look quite, well, square.

But she didn’t take my scissors from me.

So, there’s that, I guess.

 

 

 

 

 

 

One or the Other

Younger cannot manage, for whatever reason, to place his dirty clothes in his dirty clothes basket. Sometimes, his discarded shirts and jeans and socks land within inches of the basket. Other times, they are tossed across the room from his basket.

He has no reasonable explanation for either distribution method.

He also has a tendency to reply to any good-natured ribbing (regarding any habits or traits one notices while living with another) with, “In my defense . . .” And then he provides some information that he hopes might mitigate his behavior.

It usually doesn’t.

I tell you that to tell you this . . .

The other day, I walked into our bathroom, glancing from the pile of jeans, sweatshirt, t-shirt, and socks piled beside our hamper.

“I knew as soon as put the lid back on the basket, you would never manage to get your clothes in it,” I told my husband, who was standing innocently at the sink. “Younger gets it from you.”

Turning, he immediately launched, “In my defense . . .”

At least Younger is often saved by the adorable offspring factor . . .

My husband is only saved by my restraint.

Or the fact that my murderous plot is not fully formed.

We’ll see.