Archive for the ‘dresses’ Category

Area 51… Or Maybe Just My Bathroom

In Abductions, Aliens, Chicktography, Dads, daughters, dresses, Footwear, Humor, husbands, Investigations, Laundry, life, love, Men, naked, Parents, Sandals, shoes, UFOs, Women on November 19, 2015 at 5:35 pm

Every home in America contends with laundry. A home with six permanent and two part-time residents generates quite a bit of it. When five of the six permanent residents are girls, two of whom are teenagers, the home tends to generate the average American family’s weekly laundry allotment in about sixteen hours. For those of you who may not be familiar with teenage girl wardrobe selection protocols, please allow me to give you a brief summery of the manual.

Actually, the previous statement was a lie. I cannot tell you what is contained within the pages of this manual, as I have never seen it. It is a strictly guarded secret in the female realm, much like their special language. The language where the wife speaks the words, “I am so thirsty,” which could be translated into “Honey, I would like you to bring me something to drink,” or perhaps, “I am so tired of summer. I can’t wait for fall time,” or “Does anybody know where I sat down my glass of water?” or it could mean, “I am so thirsty”. Who knows? Not me. All I know is when my wife speaks in this way, there is a 70% chance I will interpret her meaning incorrectly.

Why? Because I have never seen this manual containing this language, rules, interpretations, addendums, or in this case, dismissed wardrobe selection protocols, that’s why. And even if I did stumble across one, it would take a special decoder ring in order to actually read what was printed on the pages inside. Therefore all I can do is give you my assumptions based on observations I have witnessed over the last several years.

In the world of the teenage girl, the mere consideration of wearing an outfit for the day deems the outfit mentally soiled, thus requiring a laundering service. Basically, thinking about wearing something makes it dirty. And apparently, prepubescent girls have a condensed but similar manual.

In the elementary version of this textbook there is a different set of clothing protocols. While there seems to be nothing specifically about wardrobe considerations, there is some kind of parameter that states the dirty clothes hamper is a perfectly acceptable overflow container when the dresser drawer is full. At least this is my assumption as I can think of no other reason I would find layers of neatly folded clothing beneath piles of dirty ones.

And this constitutes only a small portion of the laundry we create. These are the clothes not worn. The remaining articles of clothing, the ones actually worn, those requiring soap and water, take up a considerable portion of one of the rooms in our house.

A couple of years ago we built onto our home in order to accommodate the growing size of our family. One of the things we did was to build on a bathroom large enough to install a washer, dryer, and hot water heater. With a double sink, toilet, and bathtub, as you can imagine, this bathroom could easily equal a small bedroom in many homes.

Not long ago, after skipping a few days of laundry due to extra time spent working at the newspaper office, I stepped into the back bathroom to catch up on some household chores. I was concerned, if not shocked, perhaps even momentarily terrified at what I saw.

The clothing lay strewn about the floor in a most curious fashion. There were shirts, inside out, hair ties cinching the fabric to better fit the form of the slender body that no longer remained inside. I saw pants along side the shirts, inside out, underwear still attached; in some cases, socks peeking from inside the cuffs of the legs as if some mysterious force sucked the body from within the garments. Empty shoes, boots, and sandals tossed about the floor, a floor I could no longer see. This was either the epicenter of one of the worst laundering accidents experienced by mankind, or this was the scene of a massive alien abduction.

In the end, I figured if the aliens had them, they better hope they had one heck of a laundry facility aboard their interstellar craft, because they had abducted an entire squad of laundry generators. I smiled, alone with the thoughts of just how foolish this “superior” species had been to abduct my crew. I set about my task of triaging the scene by color, which was promptly ignored when the girls had returned home, apparently not abducted by aliens after all.

So, for now, I will just continue to buy the industrial size detergent box, keep looking to the stars for potential UFOs, and make sure the Maytag Man is on speed dial, because the quest for whiter whites is an uphill battle in This World of Hurt.

The Prom Dress

In daughters, dresses, husbands, life, Prom, shopping, Uncategorized, wives on April 20, 2011 at 8:40 pm

Well, ladies and gentlemen, prom season is again upon us. The weather is warming, the sap is rising, and the increasing rate of descent builds tension in the cockpit of public education, as we close in on the inevitable tarmac of graduation. For some, love is at an end, for others, it has only begun, and yet for others still, it is forged in the molten fires of Saturday night passion. All moving ever closer to the year’s main extravaganza: Prom Night.

Yes, the time of the year when young men RENT a tuxedo and young ladies BUY a dress. And if you are as fortunate as I am—that is, with a not quite 16-year-old daughter attending said event—you get to enjoy this, dress purchasing time of year, two more times before she actually graduates… yippiiiee.

Now, before I continue this story let me explain. I, unlike many, if not most, men–love to shop, regardless—with few exceptions—of what we maybe shopping for. This is not, however, true when young children are involved; shopping is a drag when you bring your kids. With surveillance cameras everywhere and Americas increasing disapproval of sparing the rod, kids know that the odds of you beating them in public are pretty low, and they take advantage of it. Otherwise, I will shop all freaking day. My favorite, being clothes and shoes; with books and video games running a close second… eclectic, I know. You should see the music selection on my I-pod.

Now, when you shop for video games, you go in the store and they have something that you’re into or they don’t. So with the exception of “BS”ing with the clerk for a bit you’re pretty much in and out. No small talk at all when you shop for books; it’s pretty much, “Where do you keep your fiction?” and you’re shopping. I tend to be rather picky when it comes to literature, so, I will usually peruse the books for quite some time before I make my selection. Ah, but clothes and shoes? Well, I hope that you got some rest the night before, because this is an all day event. And if you happen to have in tow, someone not quite up to the task, I have found that occasional trips to the local pubs for libations helps a great deal with moral. Anyway, I suppose if you were to compare shopping to track and field, I would run the marathon, the mile, and the hundred-yard dash.

You see, I like to look good when I dress, and I have to say—and my girls will back me up—that I have impeccable taste for a straight man. I will shop for myself, for my girls, the boy, the teenager, or search out great heels for my wife—who happens to be a “stiletto connoisseur” if you will—and I will find great deals. However, in order to accomplish this it does take time, and I will go all out.

Ok, now that we’re all up to speed, the weekend of the great dress purchasing comes around and my wife inquires as to whether I would like to join her and our daughter on this shopping venture, to which I graciously decline. “Excuse me, Jeff; you said, ‘no’?” you ask. “But you just spent the last two paragraphs telling us how much you enjoy a day of shopping. What sorcery is this?” Well, let me explain.

You see, all the other children we’re accounted for are in various fun-filled locations other than our domicile, leaving the house vacant for the day…Which would be reason enough, however, not the reason for my decline. I spotted thunderheads and unstable seas on the horizon and this here pirate elected to drop my anchor in the harbor. I don’t know about you, but if I have the choice of a day watching movies, reading a few chapters out of a good book, and conquering level after level of a stellar video game—even if I also have to vacuum, dust, and a do a few loads of laundry—or spend it with two feisty, hard-headed women, while being stuck in the crossfire of one fashion altercation after another?… Well, you don’t have to be the “head cashier” at the Piggly Wiggly to do the math there.

The thing is, both my wife and my daughter are stubborn and outspoken, which is fine. And in an argument, they each have a capacity for being outright aggressive to one another; which is also fine, because it is constantly counteracted with a deep and unconditional love. Powerful stuff, that love. Nevertheless, my presence is not required in order for an eventual compromise to be made and a dress purchased. And for the record, the dress is beautiful. Perhaps a bit low-cut; I’m not real sure about the plunging neckline. My little girls aren’t supposed to have cleavage. (Hmm, there’s another blog in there somewhere.) Now I could go shopping anyway… but no good could come of it.

What would happen is: we would arrive at the dress shop, selections would be made, and a disagreement—no matter how trivial—would ensue. It would seem as though logic would dictate that: hey, there are three of us, majority rules... EEENNT!! WRONG!.. But thank you for playing. As not only the man, but also the husband and father, what you possess is the illusion of an opinion. The two women will turn to you and ask, “Which one do you like?” and it will all be over. At this time, if you are unable to pick up on the cosmic vibrations of your daughter’s psyche, guiding you to the perfect dress selection, then you are WRONG! Or if you give an opinion that differs from the one that your wife thought that you should have had, then you are also WRONG!

No matter what the decision may be, this has now become a situation that is impossible to get out of. You are either a husband who has failed miserably at backing up his wife, or you are stupid, unfair and are now perceived by your daughter as—what I believe the kids are referring to now a days as “whipped”. In other words, you are screwed.

So gentlemen, regardless of your level of enjoyment when it comes to shopping, if you are given a choice of seeking out the perfect prom dress or not, opt out. Stay home, watch movies, read a book, play video games, making sure you do some light housework to win some brownie points, and you will–what “test pilots” would refer to as–maintain an even plane.

Now that’s strange. That story didn’t go the direction that I thought that it was going to go at all… Ha! Blogs are funny!

Until next time…Love.

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