The laundry where I take my shirts - just a few of them, the ones I wear to work, and then only because I've been on a sort of weird pressed-shirt binge the last few years (and yes I know I could just get an iron and do my own, but go away) - the laundry, I say, was closed today. Is closed. Memorial Day weekend, it says on the sign (which I did not notice when I dropped them off last Wednesday): premature patriotism. Oh well.
What is it women know about sweaters I don't understand? (No, not that - that I do.) It's a very warm, if not burning hot, day today and yet when I was out I saw women walking around in shorts and sweaters. Of course these are New England women, so maybe that explains the whole thing.
And what is it with the scratchy bread, anyway? All of a sudden I'm buying wheat bread and it's full of, well, wheat. Little chunks of the stuff. Grains. Whatever. When did that get started, anyway? It's scratchy. From now on I'm only buying smooth bread - and I mean it, too.
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