MrsDoyle

A long, loooonng time ago I met a woman who was one of the people dressing up as reenactors in an early colonial American settlement. She cosplayed as a weaver in a house that had a pond outside. Every day before she started work she would hoik her skirt up under her armpits and wade into the pond to pick up coins with her feet (she had very articulate toes). Inevitably she turned round one day to find a family of visitors gawping at her non-colonial underwear. She said the coins added up to quite a haul over the week.

pleasant texture

I’d go with “rubbery”.

I once moved into a house that had been lived in by a very elderly person. In the kitchen there was a pincushion hanging on the wall that was covered in death notices clipped from the newspaper. Kind of like doom scrolling, just super personal. Watching everyone you knew die, until it was your turn.

I’ve made myself sad all over again. :(

You know what grinds my gears? I give someone a jar of my homemade jam, or of honey from my bees, in one of my GOOD jars, and I never see that jar again. One “friend” said she had some jars, did I want them? Yes please! Aaaand they were weird tall skinny jars or tiny sample size jars, all with the labels still on. Straight in the recycling bin. I should have kept them and given her a tiny sample jar of honey instead of the normal pound.

Rant over.