The Junk Drawer

So you know how you’re goin’ along eating your favorite potato chips, Lay’s Salt & Vinegar, and you’re making good time, but you probably ate so fast that you jammed a chip up into your gum line and say “Ouch, dammit” but then you just keep eating anyway?

And because now you probably poked a hole in your gums, the salt and vinegar is like throwing gasoline on a fire and your mouth really hurts and you’re like “I should probably stop eating these” but you can’t because Salt & Vinegar chips are your most favoritest kind of chip and before you know it, the bag is empty?

And then the next day your gum still hurts, on fire actually, and it’s painful to eat anything else and you’re like “OMG, what a dumbass. Should have stopped eating those chips.”

And then like a week or two goes by and this bastard still hurts and now you’re starting to worry that there’s part of a chip stuck under your gum, getting all infected and now the infection is going to travel through your bloodstream and kill you just about the time you land in Paris for the first leg of your long-awaited vacation and you wonder “How do you say “I think I’m dying” in French?”

So then you call the dentist and ask for an emergency visit to see if there is a chip stuck up under there and the receptionist writes “Check patient for potato chip” in the log book and the dentist and his hygienist greet you laughing when you show up to have it looked at?

And then the dentist takes a look and says “Wow, you really messed that up in there. From a potato chip? Remarkable.”

And you’re like “Well, I really like those chips.” And he’s all “You really injured your palate, but it’s healing OK” and says to the hygienist “Here, take a picture” and tells me “We take pictures of everything now” and then “Do you wanna see it? and I’m like “Um. No. I know what I did, thank you.”

Yeah, that happened.

As many of you know, I’m traveling to Europe soon. The last leg of the trip will be spent visiting my friends and yours, Babs and Mo, who live in Sheffield, South Yorkshire, England.

One thing I like to do when visiting blogger friends is to bring a gift with me that’s distinct to my town. Since I’m traveling out of the country this time, I want to bring something uniquely American.

Hmmm, what to pack? I want it to be a food item that can survive the trip, but that limits me to something processed, like cookies or hard snacks.

I also want it to scream Americana, so I thought of the classic Oreo cookie.

Yes! Oreos it is!

So I researched whether they’re available in the UK. It’d be stupid to bring something Babs and Mo can get at their local grocery.

I’m excited to find that the company only just started producing them there, so maybe they’ve never seen them before. This is good.

Except.

Except that the factory where the company decided to produce them is located in……

Sheffield.

Of course they are.

Babs and Mo, maybe you should just tell me what you’d like me to bring, huh?

Really? There’s not one other place my cat can sit?

Not on a couch.

Not on a chair.

Not on a bed.

Not over there.

Not in a window.

Not on the floor.

Not on the pillow.

Not by the door.

So many choices.

What in the hell.

Of all the places.

He picks my Dell.

So you know how you’re all fresh and newly married and you care how you look?

You dress like a human for your spouse because they deserve to look at someone even remotely presentable.

You dress like you could even leave the house in the clothes you’re wearing to, oh, maybe check the mailbox.

And then.

And then 20 years of marriage later you just really don’t care any more and you’re even afraid to check the mailbox because a neighbor might see you in your tattered clothes and they’ll start a crowd funding campaign so you can get a new wardrobe that you can wear in public.

Yeah.

I’ve had these shorts for like 10 years. They’re my favorite pair. Yes, that’s a series of giant holes in the butt region. Didn’t care. That’s also a hole in the crotch. Also didn’t care.

And that’s the elastic waistband showing through from a thousand washings. Didn’t care.

Today I finally cared. I bought a brand new pair of shorts at Wal-mart for $7. Seven measly dollars that I apparently couldn’t find in the budget for the last 10 years.

So let’s hear it, folks. What exactly are you getting away with wearing that is years beyond its useful life?

I know there’s something.

In an unreliable and totally made up survey, when a group of 100 women were asked to name the most uncomfortable piece of clothing or accessory that society expects them to wear, 79% of them said high-heeled shoes.

Most of my imaginary study group were wearing said heels and half of them slipped them off during questioning because their feet were blown up the size of bread loaves and the group got really unruly when danish they were promised for their time never showed up.

Anyway, I’ve been thinkin’ about what men would say is the one thing society expects them to wear that they wish didn’t have to.

That thing has got to be the necktie.

As for me, I hate, hate, hate anything around my neck. I will allow a winter scarf when it’s cold, but none of my shirts or blouses have necks on them. I need to breathe, people.

A turtleneck? Kill me, why don’t you.

So men. Here’s where you get to bitch and moan. Exactly how much do you hate wearing neckties?

It’s gotta be some kind of hell, always worrying it’ll fall in your food or get caught in something, not to mention choking you all day long.

Do you pick out your own ties? Do you give any kind of crap about what tie goes well with what suit?

Is the first thing you do when you leave the office undo that bastard?

I don’t feel sorry for men very much, but ties? You win.

However, I will say that women have you beat on the hosiery front. We will always have you beat on constricting sausage-making legwear. That and the aforementioned spikey, toe malformation-making footwear.

I want my old feet back. Just sayin’.