Glue Boogers and Other Important Miscellany

May we speak for a moment about a few issues that are really important to me? I know, I know, this is a SOCIAL medium, not a SERIOUS one, but honestly, I need a forum for soapboxing and today, this one has the biggest audience–

First, The Commercial Glue Booger. What IS this substance?! It is appearing, at this point, in my everyday life–in mailers holding a tri-fold brochure together (have you tried staples?) or adhering a faux credit card to a credit application (do people really fall for this trick?! Do they hold the fake credit card in their hand and think, “THIS is what it feels like to hold a plasticine item of this size in my hand?! All these years and I didn’t know what it felt like to have something of this size? Well, I’ll absolutely apply now!”), in magazines holding make-up samples in someone else’s color palette to an otherwise unsuspecting page–note to magazine people: go back to fold over perfume samples which make the world (and my underwear drawer) a sweeter smelling place, and in commercial packaging where they are discretely melding my rightful property firmly to offensive backing. This weird, quasi hot-glue/rubber cement love child is gross. It makes me think that my ladies magazines were pre-read by teenaged boys for nefarious purposes. And people, if the name of your store is Dick’s, don’t use copious amounts of sticky goop of indeterminate origin as a schmeg-filled surprise for your coupon mailers. Just no.

Second, people who save sauce packets. This makes me crazy. Why does it seem that everyone I know has a drawer in their kitchen that is a black hole for unrefrigerated, expiration dateless, crusty, sticky condiment packages? Listen, you know where condiments go–IN THE REFRIGERATOR! And you know that food expires, so should be marked with a date. You are never going to go for a Chinese food picnic at the park or roast weenies in a solar oven you made from a Pringles can on your lunch hour then top it with a questionable relish packet from this drawer. You aren’t going to have a visiting physics professor from Asia to your house for dinner who refuses a fork and you, luckily, have a paper-wrapped pair of crappy chopsticks that he can use to eat the tacos you’ve prepared. Throw. That. Crap. Away.

Finally, THIS–


Yes, these are jeans.  They are, in fact, a demonstration of what EVERY PAIR OF MY BOYS’ jeans looks like when I take them from the hamper to wash them.   These jeans that, if left to be washed in the status quo, will come out of the dryer 7/8 washed and dried, and 1/8 damp, wrinkled ankle tulip that, “CAN’T be worn, Mom.”   So, it gets put back in the dirty laundry to be washed, dried and folded AGAIN.   The mystery here is HOW do you get pants to do this?  I have tried several methods of pants removal (quit yer giggling-I’m retired, I have time for this stuff) in an attempt to discern whether this particular configuration is, in fact, the result of the world’s most efficient and wonderful trouser expulsion system.   It is not.   It is simply the weird way that my children disrobe.  I have failed as a parent.   And neither of them will ever find love.  They are doomed to suffer a life of one night stands where their partners wake in the morning, see the pants on the floor in that unbelievable shape and run for the door.

Whew. I feel so much better having gotten this off my chest. Thank you for listening.

P.S.  When searching for an image on the Google to insert, I found the below horror.   Honestly, do people eat this much fast food?   I am considering dedicating my afternoon to finding this person and conducting an intervention.   At least that is a refrigerator drawer.   At worst, though, I’m pretty sure that it’s the one meant for veggies.


About peik

What's to say? I'm a chronic fun seeker and life marrow sucker. I live in an ancient brick house in a darling town with my perfect and tolerant husband, my two amazing teenagers (The Giant and The Ginger) and two blue Danes (Oliver and Periwinkle). A lover of obscure roadside attractions and museums of oddity, I travel, write, laugh, make friends, write letters, sometimes run, eat great food and drink good whiskey. I've never had a bad journey and every single day is my grandest adventure.
This entry was posted in confessions of the Weird and Unashamed, Just Being Me and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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