It will surprise none of you to know that I may have just the teensiest, slightest bit of a sort of collectors personality. That is, I could clothe Alaska with stuff knitted from my yarn stash, and if scrubs were people, I'd have about mid-sized country worth upstairs in my closet, capable of forming a small, colorful government. It's a sad thing. In my defense, I do more window shopping than actual shopping these days, somehow gleaning some strange pleasure from looking at dozens of similar pictures of yarn or scrubs that I most assuredly do not need. I'd like to think some inner voice is triumphantly showing off my stone willpower and ability to resist temptation now that I've realized how much stuff I don't need. I'd also like to think that thighs get firmer with age, boobs migrate upwards with each birthday, and those wrinkles around my eyes are the next big fashion craze. Hope springs eternal.
In any case, this sad hobby of mine leads sometimes to cruising around on e-bay, looking at yarn and scrubs. I know. It's not normal. To be fair (or to give the she-devil her due), I've purchased quite a few wonderful scrubs quite cheaply on e-bay in the past. You know, when I needed them. Back when there was just a couple of states worth in the closet as opposed to the whole damned country. ANYWAY, so I was wasting my time looking at crap I won't buy the other day when I came across an entry posted by a woman who was apparently looking to sell several pairs of scrub pants without the tops. And this is where I saw the title at the top of this post--because that's how she headed the auction: "Huge Lot of Small Bottoms". I'm pretty sure she didn't re-read that. At least, I hope she didn't. But wouldn't it be cool?
Imagine if you really could purchase a large number of small rumps to change out for your own (sort of like RJ and his magical johnson), like when you'd like to wear those snug jeans and you just ate an entire pan of brownies and three m&ms for dinner (not that I'd know anything about that). If there were several in the lot, you could change them out to suit your mood. You could have a jeans ass, a shorts ass--I'm seeing possibilities here. (Yeah, I'm also losing my mind. What of it?) I may have to start browsing e-bay more often, see if I can find a "huge lot of slim thighs". Preferably an even number, I think. And really, I could make do with just a couple of pairs. One to wear while one is being washed....you know.
Shaking off the fantasy....I mentioned those aging types of things above, and that was another thing I was thinking about today. (Give me a break--it was the last day of CNA class, the teachers were in their office having given us no assignment other than to partake of the potluck we had been asked to bring, and I was trying to think of anything that would prevent me from putting a ziploc bag over the head of the barbie-type who was giggling shrilly every few minutes at a level that had dogs howling on the outskirts of Mukilteo. And we weren't even IN Mukilteo. The bag initally had brownies in it, so it would have been a nice, chocolate-scented suffocation, at least.) What I was thinking was that there are many things about growing older that no one ever tells you. For instance, no one mentioned to me that there would be a time when I would bend over to dry the underside of my hair and start picking up hair off the floor while down there because I know I won't want to bend down again. They also didn't mention that I'd get so distracted by the hair that I'd end up holding a warm blow-dryer on my shoulder for five minutes and then wonder why my hair wasn't dry. And where that odd looking burn on my shoulder came from.
Another thing: they never mentioned that the day would come when I would get out of the shower, dry off, put on deodorant, towel my hair, comb my hair--and then be unable to recall whether or not I put on deodorant. Or that I would be so inordinately pleased when I found a solution to that problem--specifically, to purchase a clear gel deodorant with so much alcohol in it that even if I didn't shave like Jack the Ripper on a caffeine high, it would still sting so much going on that I would start wondering if getting repeatedly bee-stung might not be less painful and possibly nearly as effective (how much can an armpit full of beestings really sweat, after all? It's not like you could put your arms down or anything.). Then, even if I make it five full minutes before starting to wonder if I put the stuff on, I have the lingering pain to assure me that I either applied deodorant, or set fire to my armpits. Since I rarely set fire to my armpits, this seems to work out fairly well.
I also don't remember being told the bit about how being really tired in the morning is more likely to mean I turned over in my sleep and made something hurt at 4 am than to mean that I was out partying and being admired into the wee hours, and just made it home in time to swipe a brush through my flawless hair and throw on some lipgloss before dashing out to the whistles of several handsome men. Oh, wait. That wasn't me even when I WAS young...must have been a Cover Girl commercial. Or a "feminine product" commercial because, in television land, no one ever has as much fun doing ANYTHING as women do when menstruating.
Forgive the wandering today. I think the four hours of sitting in class doing nothing but watching my brain run out of my head through the holes left by the abovementioned shrill laughter may have burned out a few synapses. I did, however, manage to get some knitting done (and isn't it fortunate that I had it with me....and didn't allow myself to think too long or hard on the possibilities inherent in five shiny things with two sharp points apiece?). The outcome:
Flushed with the success of the Panda wool/bamboo yarn worked in the Panda wool/bamboo sock pattern, I gave this startling new technique another try with some Tofutsies and a Tofutsies pattern. No go, however. Apparently the knitting goddess was just messing with my head that other time, because the sock ended up with one side completely white and the other completely blue. Sock segregationism--not so much what I had hoped to create. But I love the pattern, so I tried it again using this lovely Fleece Artist merino sock in subtle shades of rose with tiny bits of leaf green. I love it. Quite a lot. It's the reason the laughing barbie isn't picking brownie crumbs out of her nose right this very minute, so I think she would probably love it, too. What do you think?