Sunday, January 15, 2006

Matching Socks

In my local shop there was a sign advertising an expert ironer. The possibilities were endless - I would generously employ someone who clearly was devoted to their expert subject and in turn could devote the additional free time to my favourite hobbies, or just to those endless nameless ways I spend the hours when not working or sleeping.

She was a lovely woman, yet her expertise was clearlyfar beyond that which I needed. €1.50 per garment, except for as she put it, 'like a big thing - a dress or that'. Fortunately I don't posess many dresses, being more the skirt and top type of gal, yet unfortunately I don't posess the €1,500 it would take to clear my hot press nor the further €2,000 it would take to clear those items currently acting as insulation or a sculpture akin to that in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, which I fondly refer to as the washbasket.

So yesterday evening, I valiantly dug the iron and its board out and set them up in front of the TV. Immediately I was struck by the need for a snack. A healthy snack. Some herbal tea and a tangerine later, I felt energised, and decided to practice my yoga moves. Following some limber moves accompanied by Boards of Canada, I was exhausted and not a little hungry. I decided to make a roast chicken dinner. Yum.

Several hours and calories later, I began my quest. But Joan Rivers was on the box, and she's hard to hear over the hissing of my iron, so more sensibly, I decided to match socks.

Well I would have, if I could have found a pair.

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