Wardrobe Malfunctions (Not That Kind)

I've had crazy, hectic mornings almost every day this week. I blame this on the construction crews who are replacing the sidewalks on my street. They start their work very early in the morning, sometimes before I would like to be awake. If it's dark outside and it's still 58 degrees in the house (and it is at 6:30 in the morning), it's still time for sleeping, not for ripping out my sidewalk with a Bobcat. (They leave that little Bobcat--the machine, clearly, not the animal--right outside my house every night and I'm sorely tempted to climb inside and pretend to drive it like I used to do with the tank at the park where my brother played t-ball when we were little.) The early work disrupts my morning routine.

Tuesday was one of the worst mornings. I knew I had to move my car before the cement truck came and squashed it, so I was trying to be fast and get out of the house earlier than usual. The shirt I wanted to wear had holes under the arms that I didn't notice until I was dressed. The only other shirt I had ironed has French cuffs, and I don't own cuff links. I thought that perhaps earrings could replace cuff links. I was mistaken. I went tearing through my house looking for something to use as cuff links and discovered a bottle of apple juice I'd been given that had ribbons tied around the neck. I pulled the ribbons off and tied up my cuffs and it was lovely. (Later that day, my sister mocked my beribboned cuffs, even though her husband was wearing lady pants at the time.) I dressed and then decided that I hated the shoes I was wearing, so I took them off and replaced them with boots (replacing shoes with boots is always a good idea), but I was still wearing bulky socks that scrunched up in my boots. There was no time, though, because I could see the cement truck bearing down on my little fuel-efficient car! There would be no match! My car would be destroyed! And the construction workers would say mean things to me and laugh at my French cuffs! So I stuffed knee-high stockings in my pocket, grabbed a piece of bread for breakfast, and saved my car from imminent destruction.

Yesterday morning was a challenge, too. I couldn't find anything to wear, so I decided to sew up the holes in the shirt I couldn't wear Tuesday. Not a problem, because I have a sewing machine. The sewing machine's not set up in the new house, though. It's been sitting in the spare bedroom on the floor. I only have one table and it was far away. In another room. At least 15 feet from where I was standing. So, I decided to sew on the floor. Sewing on the floor is really hard. It seems like it will be okay, even though it takes a little contortionism to get the machine threaded. It seems like using your hand to control the treadle will be fine. But then you discover it's impossible to work a treadle, push down a reverse lever, and guide a piece of fabric at the same time.

It's kind of a miracle that I've lived this long without setting myself on fire.