Barely there yet irritating

Since some members of blog land currently appear to be in “ain’t it and OTHER people awful” mode, some habitually – those ones usually the ones who, naturally, are the exception and paragons of virtue, let me tell you what IS awful.

Those sewn-in-labels inside of a garment, at the back of your neck. They scratch, they itch, they irritate my skin. It happens, occasionally – even when the label bears the name of a designer whose reputation  far outshines the garment itself.  It’s in the rough thread stitching. So far so nothing. Here is the remarkable bit: It took me about TWELVE years to pinpoint a minor irritation I feel every time I wear that “thing” (it’s a top falling to mid thigh, made in India, indeed Indian  – shame on you, Ramana) which is beautifully cut, airy as befits this weather and suits my overall colouring (think golden girl).

Great, isn’t: At the point of it falling apart (I now only wear it indoors) it occurs to me to do something about that minor irritation at the back of my neck. Yes, just now, with no intention to write a blog post, I turned that bit of the collar over and put a paper clip (!) on it to keep it in place. It’s lovely. My world is, once more, free from that worst of irritations, namely the almost imperceptible one.

U

 

Health and Safety

Do you ever feel you live on borrowed time? I mean other than when you do (by virtue of age) live on borrowed time.

The last few days mistrust has grown. Mistrust in the sturdiness of my hot water bottle. Yes, I know hot water bottles are quaint and belong to mid of last century. However, they are marvellous at keeping you warm. So, what I do, when I sit at my desk, is wedge a hot water bottle between the cushion on my chair and my lower to middle back. It’s mainly, and it is rather freaky, because I often feel the cold wind of futility between my shoulder blades. Quite something considering how warm I am otherwise. A right little oven.

Yes, suspicion. I think that hot water bottle  (red) is on its last rubber. It feels somewhat brittle and, therefore, it’s only a question of a few more uses before it bursts and I’ll burn my backside. Don’t say I didn’t warn myself BEFORE the event. I can see it now – having a cold shower in the middle of winter in the name of damage limitation.

Have you ever experienced or gone for the “burn” (not necessarily Jane Fonda in the Eighties)? If so, how big was your blister and do you still bear the scars?

U