Eating Crow...Maybe

No, this is not another one of what is surely one of my highly anticipated food, travel, or senior tips blogs. This is in fact about something entirely different. It's in actual fact one of my pants blogs.

On Jan. 15, 2014 I wrote a brilliant and convincing piece entitled, "Blue, Blue, My World Is Blue".
 http://rockinrobinsramblings.blogspot.ca/2014/01/blue-blue-my-world-is-blue.html

I expressed my opinion on pants. I express lots of opinions on pants. What constitutes pants. What cannot possibly be considered pants. What ought not be worn as pants and so on. The blog to which I'm referring related specifically to blue jeans.

My opinion has not changed...not in the least. What has changed is that I had a momentary lapse. I was so weak in fact, that I tried on a pair of jeans recently. How could I not?

They weren't Calvin Klein, Levis, Wranglers, or Lees. They weren't shredded, faded, illustrated, studded, skinny, boot cut, or any of the other myriad of terms given to jeans nowadays. They just looked like dark blue jeans. Since I was in the wonderful designer clothing and dollar type store called, "Giant Tiger", they were also $5.00...seriously, they were five dollars. For five dollars, I was trying them on. Strangely enough, one pair, only one, looked as though they'd fit. The pant legs weren't too long nor too tight. I decided to force my rotund body into these things even though they were a "missys" size and made in some country where all clothing wearers are size extra small. They just looked right somehow.

I waited at the change room door after pinging the required bell to summon an attendant. In Giant Tiger, pinging means change room, buzzing means rest room. It's a clever system actually, despite the fact that the same attendant shows up with the same keyring. I suppose the pinging and buzzing could be considered more of an indication as to the state of the customer's urgency. Alas, as I so often do, I digress.                
So I went into the cubicle, and checked the label...designer after all, woohoo..."Debbie Denim"! I tried on the jeans and stood in shocked silence. I didn't hate them and they fit. The legs were a perfect length and not too tight. They stretched around my middle. The fake stitching made them look almost authentic, as though they had the requisite zipper front, and rivet button. The waist was acceptable...a flat band at the front, and gathered stretchy at the back. and the pants had real pockets! They looked ok. In fact, from the front, I thought they looked pretty good. I decided to buy them. After all, for five bucks, I could even wear them around the house for cleaning...or maybe not depending on the comfort level. Could anything ever compare to yoga pants or a loose fitting hausfrau dress?

As I turned the corner of the store with aforementioned jeans in my cart, I saw it! There, in front of my eyes was a whole rack of five dollar Debbie Denim. There was light blue, dark blue, and blackish, all colours in my size. Again, how could I resist? I didn't. For $15 dollars, I now own three pairs of jeans. Will I wear them much? The jury's still out on that. Perhaps they'll end up at Goodwill. Maybe I'll become a convert.

On the other hand, I'm not certain I want somebody walking behind me, thinking that jeans really don't look good on anyone!

Some Assembly Required

I was overjoyed with my most recent bargain from the hospital thrift shop. For about one sixth of the price to purchase a floor steamer new, I purchased a new floor steamer. Wow! What a find! Why would anyone have brought this to the store in this fantastic unused condition? All the parts were still in their original packaging. I noted that the only well worn portion of the steamer was the instruction booklet. Hmmmm...























I decided that today and tomorrow, would be house cleaning days and I was so eager to get started that I even finished half a bathroom before procrastinating and heading to the gym. When I returned, I took apart the box containing my new treasure. Uh oh. It sure had a lot of pieces.

At this point, I wondered, "What would a man do?" So I took a break, went and had a leisurely lunch.

When I returned, I decided it might be a good idea to open the instruction manual. I hate instructions. They are difficult to decipher and often misleading. In this case, they looked easy enough and even included illustrations. I can do this, I decided.

I scratched my head and wrinkled my brow. I flicked through the French instructions to see if they looked any easier. A short time later, I yelled for hubby. Fortunately, he didn't hear me. I took a deep breath and began.

Step One - Assemble. I looked at a picture which showed putting handle into body of steamer. Makes sense I thought. After some wiggling and jiggling (the handle, not me) I did it. I was feeling extremely pleased with myself. Wow, my steamer looked almost ready for use.

Step Two - Select mop head and attach cleaning pad. Through my endless hours of experience with kindergarten matching activities, I was not only able to identify, but could select and put together all three. I figured I might as well do this now, while my head was clear and the task was so obvious to me. I opted to attach to the machine the recommended wedge for small spaces and corners.


 

















Step Three - Lay mop on the floor and remove water tank cap. Somewhat confusing, but not too bad. Then use flask to add water and reattach cap. Plug in, wait 30 seconds and begin to mop. Simple.

As I mopped, I was feeling the love for my new toy. My floor was spotless in seconds. This was soooooo easy and I didn't even need rubber gloves. The ick factor would not come into play until I had to remove and wash the cleaning pad.

I had no idea why I initially panicked about assembling something so easy, and was thankful that someone else had done the same. After all, how else would I have acquired this bargain?

After completing the bathroom, I decided to do the kitchen floor with one of the larger attachments. What fun!

Then, looking at all the extra pieces, I made a disturbing discovery. I wonder what these leftover things are for?  Oh well, they don't look like anything important do they?