Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.

Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.

Wednesday, August 30, 2000

The Queen of ... Blah

While folding laundry (a task involving much swearing and agony, but that's another post), I discovered that I have become exceptionally detail-oriented.

For instance ... there are certain things about clothes that make me refuse to purchase them. Clothing that needs to be ironed every time it's worn does not need to belong to a 7-year old. Collars that refuse to lie down even when still on the rack at the store do not go home.

Yet, while folding clothing, I found these very items in the stacks. This annoys me. I think it's revenge from my mother, to be perfectly honest, for all of the clothes that I just had to have that involved so much effort. It's really ridiculous, though, and I see why it annoyed her so much at the time when I just HAD to have that dry-clean only whatever.

For a few moments, I considered pulling the same stunt my mother had, and hiding the offending articles of clothing. The moment passed, and I let the urge go.

Another discovery gave me a mild case of the giggles, even while groaning in pain over the whole folding trauma. I am The Queen of Khaki. Honest. I had no idea that my wardrobe had become so subtle, so mild, so ... boring. If it wasn't an earthtone in some muted shade, I didn't pull it out of the basket for me.

I can't decide if I've grown up, given up, or stopped caring.

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