I was one of those who SWORE that when I became a parent, I was NOT going to be like my mom and dad. And then, somewhere after child number one, or was it child number 2? I opened my mouth and my mom fell out of it. I have been guilty of a lot of the traditional, time-honored, respected (and disrespected) mom-isms. Reference: http://www.happyworker.com/magazine/fun/mom-wisdom#.U4yk4vldXT8[/
EXCEPT for that one. Frankly, there are bigger issues in parenting than clean underwear – or underwear at all, for that matter. You learn as a parent to choose your battles. Once chosen, you need to win, but you need to choose which ones are worth fighting for and which ones just don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
In the difficult struggle to socialize and raise a decent human being, clothing is necessary, unfortunately. MODEST clothing is preferable. So is clean clothing – usually, but not always. I am perfectly willing to settle for clothing that does not make you look like a two-dollar hooker (or gigolo). That’s about it. As long as the essentials are decently covered, and stuff is not see-through to the point that it might as well not be there, OK. AND, if others on the street make advances based on dress – it is obviously time to reevaluate either the dress or the person doing the come-ons. Let’s face it, even Catholic nuns are not immune to SOME people.
I ran across a photo of a bathroom that freaked me out. (https://dirtdaubber.wordpress.com/2014/05/05/380-nope-not-happening/)
It had a glass floor that capped a several-stories straight-down drop. There is no way I would have been able to do my business in there. Not happening. In the process of checking to be sure that acrophobia was, indeed the correct and proper name for the fear of heights, I ran across this Internet gem: http://phobialist.com/#S-
I am amazed and humbled. I did not know it was possible to be afraid of so many things.
For anyone who has not heard of Murphy’s Law, here is the “authorized” definition from the Web (which, of course, means it is utterly true and reliable): http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/murphy’s+law, noun:
the facetious proposition that if something can go wrong, it will.
Also called Murphy’s First Law. Origin: Americanism; after a fictitious Murphy, allegedly the name of a bungling mechanic in U.S. Navy educational cartoons of the 1950s. So now you know.
Murphy struck again. I have a little plastic car. It is cheap, but reliable; old but trustworthy; not beautiful, but dependable. When we had it repaired (read re-BUILT) after someone hit my husband, the body man did not replace one of the taillights that had a rather small chip knocked out of it. He did not replace it because even though it was damaged, the damage did not appreciably affect the performance, so he figured it was just fine, even though it does not look pretty anymore. The other taillight was just fine, being on the other side of the car from where the impact occurred.
We park our car on the street. This is because the one garage that my apartment building has is occupied by my landlord’s vehicle, being that he lives on the second floor just below us. There is no other secured storage, so we park in front of our building and hope for the best. Well. Right.
One morning last week, as I left the house at 7:30 am to go and pick up my carpoolers for work, I discovered that someone during the night had hit? backed into? broken? the taillight: not the already damaged taillight – oh, NO…..they smashed into little, bitty pieces the taillight that hitherto was undamaged. Of course. Murphy.
Now, instead of replacing ONE damaged taillight, now we get to replace TWO. Dang Murphy.