I'm uploading photos of my junk onto flickr so I can eBay it all and liquidate these assets, if you will. Other flickrites have been admiring all my chotschkies. One lady commented that my house must be filled with collectibles. And I thought, "Yes. Unfortunately for the person who has to dust them, that's true." But I won't have that problem much longer. My clutteritis is going into remission.
If you are a clutter-bug or a pack-rat, then you'll love Kaboodle's new My Collectibles. Even if you are a neat-freak, you'll get a laugh from some of the strange collections people have uploaded. Check it out.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
RUNNING WITH SCISSORS
My mom and I acted out a scene today that beautifully illustrates the generation gap. Yep, it's alive and well, folks. Imagine my 71-year-old mother chasing her 31-year-old son around the house with a pair of scissors. No, she wasn't trying to hurt me. Her intentions were good.
Was she trying to cut my hair? Kill an angry attacking bug? Nope. She was trying to cut the fringe from my blue jeans. She caught sight of it dragging the floor and tried to snip it off before I noticed. When I saw what she was doing and resisted, she started after me. (Call the mom police - she ran with scissors!)
When I finally got her to stop chasing me, I tried to explain that I wanted the fringe. In fact, I had paid extra to buy jeans that were already comfortably worn. "If you cut it off," I explained, "you'll be cutting $20 off the value of these pants." Of course, my analogy was too much for her midcentury mindset. "How old are you?!" she quipped, implying, I guess, that I have the fashion-sense of a teenager.
My answer: too old to have my mother dictate what I wear.
Was she trying to cut my hair? Kill an angry attacking bug? Nope. She was trying to cut the fringe from my blue jeans. She caught sight of it dragging the floor and tried to snip it off before I noticed. When I saw what she was doing and resisted, she started after me. (Call the mom police - she ran with scissors!)
When I finally got her to stop chasing me, I tried to explain that I wanted the fringe. In fact, I had paid extra to buy jeans that were already comfortably worn. "If you cut it off," I explained, "you'll be cutting $20 off the value of these pants." Of course, my analogy was too much for her midcentury mindset. "How old are you?!" she quipped, implying, I guess, that I have the fashion-sense of a teenager.
My answer: too old to have my mother dictate what I wear.
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