FINALLY! A RULE THAT ACTUALLY WORKS!

I've developed a very bad habit lately, which I'm chalking up to the fact that I am standing in the vestibule to Menopausal Hell. I'll get hungry for something and then sit in the chair saying to myself "Naaaah, that doesn't sound good" or "No, that's not what I'm hungry for". And on an on it goes until it's either too late to eat something (I mean, come on, who here has the ability to eat anything past 8pm anymore?), or I've waited too long and am now in a full-on blood sugar crash that results in me falling face first into the refrigerator.

The worst part of this new habit is that it has wormed its way into my stitching. So every afternoon/evening becomes a mental game of "I'm in the mood to stitch something......(sounds of crickets chirping) until it's too bloody late to make any meaningful progress on anything and I go to bed defeated.

If you've been here for any length of time with me, then you already know my propensity for concocting routines or tricks or bribes to get myself more productive with my stitching, so it should come as no surprise that I spent the better part of yesterday doing just that.

Finally, at around four o'clock it hit me square between the eyes.

FIFTEEN MINUTES!

(You'll note that when I shouted this out loud, I startled Little Lord Fauntleroy right out of his late afternoon reverie and right into a hissy fit that resulted in me having to wash the drapes again.)

(Damn dog.)

The thought came to me yesterday that I used to be one of those people who lived by the credo of "I can do anything for fifteen minutes". This, of course, can be put into the same philosophical category as "Just one bite of peas and then you can go back out to play", or "Start with ten minutes of light walking and before you know it you'll be running the Boston Marathon".

So that's what I decided to do vis a vis my stitching.

Whenever I am undecided as to what the heck I want to play with on a given day, I'm going to pick up a project (any project, mind you), and work on it for fifteen minutes. That's all. Just a lousy fifteen minutes to see if I can get the stitchy juices flowing. If, after fifteen minutes, I'm still bored and want to throw myself into a Violet Beuregard tantrum, then and only then will I do so with impunity -- knowing all the while that I at least gave it a shot.

So here's what yesterday's fifteen minutes turned into....about five hours of pretty good stitching on a canvas that had been languishing in the WIP basket:You know me...I loathe the idea of giving anybody advice (you can stop that snickering in the back now, please), but if you're starting to feel a little slumpy in your stitchy area, try the fifteen minute thing and see what happens. You might be amazed at what appears. (*)

(*) The fifteen minutes starts AFTER you've gathered your project, adjusted it on the stretcher bars or q-snaps, fished out all of the threads, etc., poured yourself a vat of dietCoke, and then nestled into your Happy Chair.

Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

YEAH, RIGHT. LIKE I NEED TO KILL MORE BRAIN CELLS.

I don't drink alcohol, but I spent the better part of the weekend nursing a hangover of epic proportions. As much as I'd love to tell you that it was the result of sipping too much champagne while aboard Jeffrey Dean Morgan's yacht, I'm afraid that it was nothing more than the tail end of a good old fashioned migraine.

It all started innocently enough. Aunt Chrissy and I decided to go for the fishes dinner at the Culver's, and about 3/4 of the way through my cole slaw I felt like my left eye was going to pop right out of my head and right onto my plastic spork. Fast forward to 3am, and I was face down on the cool ceramic tile of the bathroom, praying for death.

Needless to say, not a whole lot of stitching went on this weekend, but I did manage to poke a needle through a new start last night while watching the Academy Awards.

Is it just me, or did the entire thing make you want to go back to the movie theater? I haven't been in quite some time because I am convinced that I can have a much better movie viewing experience from the friendly confines of my Happy Chair, instead of having to listen to some twelve year old jackass talk on her cell phone for ninety six minutes while stuffing her face with popcorn, but I really do want to consider going back to viewing things on the big screen, since I think that the handsome French guy that won Best Actor would be even better four stories tall.

(Note to self....don't look for any awards for your writing anytime soon, especially given the fact that you can't seem to put together a coherent sentence with two hands and a flashlight.)

Here are three really terrible pictures of some of the things that I played with this weekend. 'Scuse the mess, friends. I'm just not very good at posing my stitching properly for its close up.


This is the new start: Barnwood Buttons by Rosewood Manor. I'm stitching it on 28ct. Raisin Cashel with Weeks Dye Werks Light Khaki, and I'm trying my best not to ruin, break, or lose the gorgeous buttons for it. (This one had me at hello.)
As God is my witness, I am going to finish this canvas this year. I keep thinking that a border would do it wonders, so maybe I'll futz with that for a bit before tackling the next flower. (Thread selection and stitch guide are by Miss Ruth of Bedecked and Beadazzled. Canvas is from Maggie and Co.)

And can I get a big Woo Hoo from the congregation?! I had to move the q-snaps! Now if I can just stick with this, maybe it will see the inside of the Michael's framing department before it's time to think about starting the summer girl! (Oh, sorry. This is Le Printemps from Birds of a Feather.)
So there you have it. Not much to show, but at least I'm upright and not clutching the Tylenol bottle. God willin' and the creek don't rise, I'm going to see what I can do about getting some progress made on SOMETHING by the end of the day, even if it's just a few stitches.

I'LL TAKE PERSONAL VICTORIES FOR TWO HUNDRED, ALEX

Moments ago I catapulted myself out of Dottie Van Buskirk and shouted "Woo Hoo! Look Ma! No cavities!"

There are two things you should know about that last sentence.

One, Dottie Van Buskirk is my vehicle. (Yes, I had come to a proper and complete stop in the garage.)

And two, my neighbor happened to be walking by at that precise moment, so I caught him shaking his head while muttering to himself "What in the Sam Hell is WRONG with that girl?"

But I will take any little piece of good news I can find and turn it into cause for celebration, so... cake for everybody! The Spinster Stitcher got a good report from the dentist and all of the barnacles scraped off of her molars at the same time, so let's break out the Devil's Food and get on with it!

Here's a little progress pic from last night. There would have been more but You Know Who insisted that we go to bed at a decent hour and not sit up until the wee hours poking needles through linen.



We're off for pawticures and grocery shopping tonight, and if the weather people are correct, we'll also get hit with a winter storm. Looks like it's time to break out the crock pot again! Methinks we're in for a stitchy weekend!

Here's hoping that you have your own little victories today and that somebody is there to share them with you! Don't forget the cake!

WHO NEEDS A GOOD HAIR DAY WHEN YOU CAN HAVE A GOOD STITCHY DAY INSTEAD?

Ahhhh, youth. I remember when I used to wake up in the morning and pray for a good hair day.

(Considering the fact that I usually ended up in full-on RoseAnn RoseAnnaDanna mode by 10am, you can see how this could be a priority for me.)

Now, I pull all of my fuzzy messitude into a pony and try to pretend that I am sleek and polished.

(In reality, though, I'm just old and a hot mess.)

Apparently, I've moved into a new phase of life, since I now find myself saying "Oh please oh please oh please let me have a good stitchy day. Amenandthankyouverymuch."

I'm making some pretty good progress on Le Printemps. I finally figured out that one of the things that was causing me to put this one down so much (in addition to the fact that it is the size of a bedspread), was the colors. I hated them. And before you go thinking that I'm commenting on the designer, I'd like to point out that I re-colorized this one and probably would have been better off to leave that in the capable hands of the authorities. (Aunt Chrissy pulls her own hair out every time I call her and whine that I'm having "color issues", and before I know it she's over here in her pink fuzzies making the world right once again.)

This time, though, it was all me, and I think I finally fixed it.

So here's last night's results. Stewey wholeheartedly agrees with me that I'm finally on the right track with this, but he's still hoping for that good hair day.

She takes pictures of me looking like this and then wonders why I pee on the couch.

So that's the report for a Futzingday from here in Hoosierville. I do have a few answers for some of your questions about stuff upstairs, so....

Robin asked about the little wooden trays. As much as I'd love to tell you that I found them browsing in an antique store in some quaint village someplace....they're from Hobby Lobby.

Yup, Jennifer. That little sewing machine is what I was allowed to use when I first started stitching to edge my linen. Although I haven't been given express written permission to do so, I now use the big girl machine (but still furiously try to fix it without Aunt Chrissy finding out that I've broken it or screwed up all of the tread thingies once again.) The box to the bottom left is what it came it, and I think Aunt Chrissy said that she got it at the Targets.

Hey, Shar! I found the Clip It Up online at a scrapbooking supply place. I think the name of the company is called "Simply Renee", but if you Google Clip It Up, you should be able to find it without too many problems.

Woo Hoo! Thanks for writing!

LOOK AWAY, BETTY! LOOK AWAY!

My email box blew up with requests for more pictures of the studio. Specifically, it would seem that you wanted more detailed pics of how I'm storing various and sundries up there in...well...you know where.

For those of you who wanted more photos, here they are. For those of you who don't, thank you for stopping by! Have a lovely Tuesday!

AND THEN...SHE HIT A NERVE

Oh my goodness! Y'all just ROCK my stupid little world with your nice comments! And considering the fact that I have been unable to lift my arms or bend any of my major joints ever since the cleaning marathon...you REALLY rock my stupid little world!

(Maybe that's how I will finally motivate myself to clean the rest of the house...."If I scrub this (insert thing that needs to be scrubbed here) to within an inch of its life and sweat through my terry cloth headband and bike shorts while doing it, maybe all of my stitchy friends will write nice comments that will make the impending pain of death palatable." Hmmmm. Could we be on to something here?)

The first thing I do want to do though is apologize for that post, especially if you thought it was a little too....um...brag-gy. I'm Catholic. Guilt is like breathing for me. So now that I've pranced around for three days going "Look at meeeeeee! Look at meeee!", I'm feeling the need to confess my sin of pride. For all of you out there who thought to yourselves "My God, what an obnoxious blog post", please know that I beat you to the punch.

(But I'm not unposting it.)

Thread storage seemed to be a hot topic. I store my threads according to way I use them. In other words, I keep all of the like with like. Those white three drawer thingies hold all my threads according to number (for things like DMC perle cotton), or alphabetically (for things like Weeks and Gentle Art). And then there's the drawer that says "Misc silk" because I don't really have enough of any one thing to justify a whole drawer for it. I also have a scrapbooking doo dad that I hang all of my Crescent Colours on, but the jury is still out on whether or not that's a very practical solution for me.

I also wanted to mention that zones are a huge thing for me. All that means, basically, is that I put all of the scrapbooking crap in one place, all of the beading crap in another, cross stitch, needlepoint...yadda yadda yadda and on and on and on until I have it in a way that I can find stuff. This really has no other purpose than to prevent me from going to the Michael's every ten minutes for crap that I already have and probably didn't need in the first darn place.

I am always waaaayyyy too happy to tell you all about the way I do crap up there, and I'll even try to give you the brand name of the doo dad that I'm using, but the thing I really really really want to say with full-throated voice and hand over heart is.....

It's all good, people. It's all good.

I don't care if your studio consists of the third shelf in a closet at the back of a storage shed in the middle of a corn field or if you stuff everything you own into a black plastic garbage bag and haul it around in a little red wagon. Anybody, and I really do mean anybody who picks up a needle, sticks a piece of thread through it, and then pokes it into something is OK in my book. And I don't care if you're stitching daffodils or unicorns or quilt patterns or fractals or the latest pictures from your Uncle Fester's colonoscopy. If you're stitching or tatting or knitting or scrapbooking or punching or hooking or doing anything else that remotely relates to this thing of ours, I will sit next to you all day long and secretly wish to be your friend.

So there you have it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have bike shorts to don and a terry cloth headband to fish out of the "Things I Wore In 1973" bin. There's cleanin' to do!

YOU WERE THE WIND BENEATH MY BATWINGS

batwing (bat weeng) n. 1. the proturberating flesh of an aging spinster that hangs from the underside of her upper arm. 2. known to knock over small children, objects d' art, and anything else that happens to come into unfortunate contact with that particular part of the spinster.

So thanks to all of you out there in Stitchy Blogville who are getting your Spring Cleaning 2012 grooves on, I am proud to report that I too spent the last two days upstairs making the world safe for democracy.

The Spinster Sisters Stitching Studio has been cleaned to within and inch of its life. Phew!

In this corner, we have a lovely little chair that usually has a sleeping pup on its seat.

(You might notice, however, the pink baby blanket just to the right of the bookcase. This item must be perfectly fitted into the seat of the chair before You-Know-Who deems it an acceptable place for a snoozy nap.)

(Oh, and that little table? That was Mom's. The lid lifts up to reveal little cubbies for sewing items. Apropos, no?)

White walls! White ceiling! White Martha magazines in the endcap of the long table! Methinks we're going to have to do something about all of this white. Aunt Chrissy? Are you up for a trip to the Home Depots?

Ahhhhh, threads. And beads. And charts. And doo dads.

(And a really really crappy black desk chair that desperately needs to be taken to the curb on the next trash day.)

(Note to self. Ask Aunt Chrissy to assist, or you're certainly going to end up in the ER after falling down the steps carrying said chair.)What is it about all of this organizing that puts me into such a state of bliss? Is it the fact that I can now find everything I need? Is it my uncontrollable need to control everything to within an inch of its life? Have I taken this whole "I want to be just like everybody else and do everything they do and have everything they have" thing too far?

Only the Shadow knows for sure...

This next pic is for my friend Betty. Betty writes to me at least four times a week to tell me that she a) hates my ever-loving guts, and b) wishes that I would stop blogging about my crappy life and just show pictures of my crappy stitching. (Hi, Betty! Here I am! Picking up your gauntlet and running with it, girl! Write again soon! I can't wait to see what about me p***es you off tomorrow!)

This one's for you, Betty. This one's for you.

(Oh, and in case you were wondering, this is a WIP, which means that I'm also shamelessly copying THAT group of stitchers who decided to stitch their WIP's this year too!)

(How's THAT for a coherent sentence?)

That brings us to the end of the week, my friends. I hope that you're ready to rock the weekend, stitcher style! Stewey and I are planning a lovely little meatloaf and Merlot, and lots and lots of time in the Happy Chair! We hope your chair is a Happy one too and that you'll tell us all about it on Monday! Woo Hoo!

AND NOW A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS

On behalf of precocious little dogs everywhere and the spinsters who love them....

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Here's hoping that your day is filled with...well....LOVE!

THE PEAS ARE BACK IN THE FREEZER

Thank you for all of your kind and comforting comments about my little mishap. No worries, though, I have a very very hard head, and me being me means that I am quite used to these crazypants shenanigans.

(Stewey, however, now insists on the purchase of a MedAlert bracelet.)

(I think he just wants to hear me say "I've fallen and I can't get up", but what do I know?)

Here are a few pics of some of the stitchy-ness that happened over the weekend. I'm happy to report that the Winter/Spring Conflict of 2012 is starting to dissolve and that I'm able to stitch away without feeling too much angst, but in the event the Weather Channel is listening....FIX IT! On behalf of seasonal stitchers everywhere, may I just say that we have more winter stuff to do before we break out the Easter bunnies?!


I finally finished all of the block borders on Laura J. Perin's Stained Glass Windows. Now it's on to the fun part!

Aunt Chrissy is working on this one at the moment too, and because I'm still stuck in Single White Female mode, I just had to stitch it along with her.

If my arms didn't get so tired from holding these ginormous q-snaps, I'd probably have this one done already! It really is quite lovely to stitch, but my shoulders are getting a real workout!

Remember this one? It's a freebie chart from Laura J. Perin called This Heart's For You. I am in LOVE with that Watercolours color (which is Geranium), so I figured this would be perfect to play with tonight and tomorrow.
Hope your Monday is a happy one! Woo Hoo!

CLEAN FLOORS ARE SLIPPERY FLOORS, BY MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's sitting in the Happy Chair with a bag of peas on her head. She's also glaring at me with crazy eyes, but I'm trying to ignore that part of the tableau and just get on with my nap time.

It all started when she came from from the Targets a few weeks ago with new socks. Normally, the old lady opts for the bag of Hanes low rise "footie" socks in a sensible cotton, but this time she and Aunt Chrissy decided to get jiggy with it and she bought fuzzy socks instead.

And by fuzzy, I mean really really fuzzy. And soft too. I would say that these socks are reminiscent of my very own downy soft fur, but that wouldn't be quite accurate, since my fur is white and smells nice and these socks are black and do not.

Anywhoose, when Mo-ther took these socks out of the Target shopping bag, I said to her "Don't you think you should adhere some kind of safety strips onto the bottom of those things?", and Mo-ther snorted at me dismissively and said "There's enough crap on these floors to stop me from sliding around. Besides, safety strips on the bottom of these things would make them look like hospital socks. And I'm not going to wear hospital socks."

Ironic, no?

Had the old lady actually gone to said hospital for treatment of what I am sure is a concussion, she would, in fact, have been presented with...yes...you guessed it....hospital socks.

As it is, she's in the Happy Chair complaining of a headache and blurry vision after smacking her head on the hardwood. At 7:30 this morning she decided that she was thirsty and that she might as well start the day, so she hauled herself out of the big girl sleigh bed, put on the fuzzy Target socks, and proceeded to ice skate across the clean living room floor. Not a dust bunny in sight to stop my stupid mo-ther's momentum, and before I knew it I heard what sounded like a watermelon being dropped from a very tall building.

There was no blood, thank God, but you would think that a person has never fallen down in the world the way she's carrying on about it. She keeps talking about the fact that all of this silliness is Notre Dame's way of getting back at her for dissing their hideous new football helmets, since those football helmets are supposed to provide a safe and sturdy cushion for when the players fall down and smack their own heads.

So I suppose that in addition to the fuzzy socks and eighteen year old sweatpants that are the normal get-up around here, I can expect to see a shiny gold helmet bobbing around the place looking for trouble.

We're hurtling into the weekend and are expecting some snow. I don't know what this will mean in terms of stitching selections around here, but I promise to update you further as time allows. Until then, I hope that you have a warm and cozy and safe (!) weekend with you and yours and that you get to do whatever it is that your very own heart desires.

With love from your pal,
Stewey

LOOK! UP IN THE SKY! IT'S A BIRD! IT'S A PLANE!

Nope. Just the sun. Seems that it's been scarce enough to make me notice when it finally peeks itself out of the clouds. The weird thing is that I usually don't pay too much attention to grey days....as a matter of fact I think I kind of prefer them since it provides the perfect excuse to hit the Happy Chair for some marathon stitching.

But the sun shining? In February?

What in the heck is going ON with this crazypants weather?

Here's a little progress on Le Printemps. Once I got that sucker off of the scroll rods and onto the more manageable q-snaps, it seemed like it became much more enjoyable to stitch. I still haven't figured out how to negotiate all of the extra linen on these BAP's, but I'm just happy that I haven't stitched this one shut yet.

(You know....when you accidentally stitch the overhanging linen to the back of the piece that you're working on? And then you have to quickly and carefully rip it apart so that nobody will see what a boob you were and that you really shouldn't be allowed to work on things that are the size of a bedspread?)

(At least not without adult supervision anyway.)

But I'm really enjoying this, and hope that I might make enough progress on it that it will see the working side of a frame sometime soon.
That's the Thursday report for today, my friends. Grocery tonight! Woo Hoo!

YOU CAN'T FIGHT CITY HALL

So I decided that this whole "I have to stitch winter-ish because it's Winter" thing is going to drive me right to the bottom of a super-sized pan of Rice Krispie Treats. Not one flake of snow has fallen in these here parts in quite some time, so I might as well get the whole notion of sitting in front of the fireplace and Dr. Zhivago out of my head.

I fished through my stash and kitted up a few new and not so new projects with a decidedly spring-y theme. Hopefully we'll see some progress on SOMETHING before the Stitchy Police come to take my needles away. (They can be real pills, can't they?)

SEARCH AND RESCUE

It all started with a lovely little red wreath.

A few weeks ago during a trip to the Michael's, Aunt Chrissy carefully selected a lovely little red heart wreath for her front door. "I'll put this up for Valentine's Day", she said. "Then once Spring comes, I'll change it to my hydrangea wreath."

I, of course, was probably lost in some craft store haze, and I'm sure I muttered to myself something along the lines of "Why do they have the freakin' Valentine's decorations out now? It's only November." Or something to that effect.

The lovely little red wreath is, naturally, absolutely perfect on Aunt Chrissy's front door, and in the evenings when the street light comes on you want to walk right up her front sidewalk and peek in the windows to see if the rest of her house is as lovely as the porch.

For the record, it is.

When you walk into Aunt Chrissy's house, it always smells nice. I'm not sure what it is exactly, but it's fresh and homey and warm and inviting. Then, within seconds of stepping in the door there is a bouncy, happy little dog smothering you with kisses, and he wiggles his heiney and wags his tail and lets you know that he has no use for silk smoking jackets. (Or sarcasm.) Every vignette or wall is decorated perfectly without looking "stagey", and all you want to do is kick your shoes off and curl up on the big couch and look around. There's stitching everywhere, and when you really look at it carefully, you can see the entire history of Aunt Chrissy's life. You can see the piece that she worked on when she took Dad to chemo, the pillows that she stitched when she was still in Phoenix, and even a few pieces that she stitched when she first came to Indiana and spent hours and hours and hours up in the studio. In short, Aunt Chrissy's house is a very very happy place.

This is all by way of explanation of why I had a full-on ugly cry meltdown last Thursday night and how my little sister singlehandedly got rid of a bad case of the Mean Reds.

I'm not sure if it's the goofy weather or an impending stitchy slump or the lack of Jeffrey Dean Morgan sightings, but I have been an absolute pill. Pouty and grumpy and whiny and very very high maintenance.

(Anybody who knows me will tell you that this condition is actually not new at all, but rather a general state of being for me these last 45 years or so, but what do they know?)

Anywhoo, on Thursday night I dropped Aunt Chrissy off after our weekly grocery shopping and I came home and sat down in the middle of my bathroom floor and threw what can only be described as a Veruca Salt hissy fit of epic proportions.

"Why can't I have anything nice?" I moaned. "I hate my house and my stupid decorations and my big empty walls and my ugly front door and my plain old rooms and..and...and" (insert hiccupy ugly cry here).

Apparently, the sight of that lovely little red wreath was enough to send me into hysterics, and I did my level best to play Single White Female until I got exactly what I wanted, which is apparently the ability to be exactly like my little sister and to live in a house that's cozy and nice and not at all like a bus station.

Stewey poked his head in to see what all of the fuss was about, and then I assume that he picked up the phone and called his Aunt Chrissy to request a rescue, because before I knew it my shoes were on and we were standing in the Targets looking for new bath towels. Then it was on to the Michael's to find something for MY front door, and finally, we ended up at the Bed Bath and Freakin Beyond for a painting that magically has the name "Constance" in it .

She started with my front door and she didn't stop until she had transformed my crappy, dumpy, ugly little house into something wonderful. I'm pretty sure that we made eighteen trips to various and sundry places, but the end result is a very very happy spinster who now lives in a very very happy house.

(By the way, another way of saying all of this is: Once upon a time, I was throwing a tantrum at the bottom of a very deep dark well. Aunt Chrissy heard my whining, took out her little flashlight, and hollered down "What's the matter, Sissy? Dry your eyes and grab my hand and we'll make it all better".)

And then she did.

So here's a few pics of her work. I confess that I'm a little apprehensive to post photos of a bathroom, but you get what I'm trying to show you, right?

Look what she did for the Big White Wall of Nothingness! (And yes, I know that the tags are still on the flowers, but we wanted to make sure that they worked there before ripping them all off.) OH! And did you notice the spanky new lampshade? The wattage of the light bulb stayed the same, but I no longer have to wear a miner's hat to see things in here at night! Woo Hoo!



Ahhhh. My front door. (You'll be happy to know that Aunt Chrissy already selected the flowers for March and that they are ready to go.) (Stewey wholeheartedly approves.)


And last, but not least is my new bathroom. Doesn't it look like a woman lives here now instead of a herd of frat boys? (P.S. Who doesn't LOVE some purple?) (Oh, and the painting with the flower has a bunch of French words written on it, and very clearly in the upper left corner is my name...Constance!)

So that's my story for today. Thank you for indulging my need for a "Look at meeeee"moment, but I really wanted you to know that there is no reason whatsoever to feel at all sorry for the likes of me. I might have a dog who ties my tiny little brain up in knots just for the fun of it, but I do have a sister (er, um, I mean caretaker) who MORE than makes up for it!

Happy Monday!

I'M BLAMING THE WEATHER

It's February.

There is supposed to be snow on the ground.

I am supposed to be sitting in front of the fire with something winter-ish to stitch.

Instead, all I want to think about is spring-ish stuff to stitch.

Damn weather.

OUR LADY OF THE MAYTAG

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's in the laundry room having an argument with the fancypants clothes dryer.

The fancypants clothes dryer is winning.

MO-THER: Listen here, you stupid machine. I want you to re-run the drying cycle so that I can have another cup of coffee and finish the Sudoku without feeling guilty.

FANCYPANTS CLOTHES DRYER: First of all, there's no reason for name calling. For the record, I am a Whirlpool Duet Clothes Drying System and I have more sophisticated parts than the space shuttle. Secondly, the load of clothes that you want me to re-dry has been languishing here in my perfectly calibrated drying system containment facility for a week and a half. It's dry already. Trust me.

MO-THER: But if you don't re-dry them I have to fold them and put them away and then move the load of wet towels from the washing machine over to you and I'm just not prepared to do that at this time. I. Want. To. Have. Another. Cup. Of. Coffee.

FCD (silently sending a text message to the fancypants coffee machine): I see. Well, before you decide to take the lazy way out and fake your way through a day of homekeeping, might I suggest that you take a moment to re-consider? Take these clothes out of me, fold them, and THEN have your cup of coffee.

MO-THER: No. You're a clothes dryer and you can't make me.

FCD: Oh yeah? Well, go ahead and try to re-set me, lady. We'll see who's smarter in THIS little scenario.

(The spinster tries to program the fancypants clothes dryer for a "normal/casual" setting, knowing that it will take 45 minutes. This, she predicts, will be plenty of time to have the coffee and finish the puzzle.)

(The fancypants clothes dryer tumbles the clothes for a minute and seventeen seconds, and then buzzes loudly to indicate that the clothes are perfectly dry and have been perfectly dry for the week and a half that said clothes have been in said fancypants clothes dryer.)

(Exasperated, the spinster stomps out of the laundry room and heads for the kitchen. She readies her coffee cup under the fancypants coffee machine, pushes the "brew" button, and waits.)

(Instead of brewing coffee, the fancypants coffee machine flashes a message. "Fold clothes. Apologize to dryer. Transfer towels.")

The spinster decides to have tea instead.
***************************************

I'd love to tell you that the needles were flying last night, but the truth of the matter is that Mo-ther put about seven stitches into L'Hiver and then chucked it all to watch Mistresses. We were doing just fine with this until the "Season Finale next Wednesday" message appeared. Season Finale? After four episodes? Really? Methinks it's time for me to organize another letter writing campaign to the BBC America.

That's it for a gloomy Thursday, folks. I'll keep you updated on Days of Our Laundry. I suspect that it's going to end with a large household appliance sitting on the curb for the trash man tomorrow. Stay tuned!

With love from your pal,
Stewey