I got the "Hunnerd Percent Cotton" blues
It's the same thing every year: I get jazzed about planning our family vacation, plotting the trip route, picking sites to visit, checking out the Off the Beaten Path guides for a destination jewel, and then, before I know it, it's the day before we leave on our trip. Pre-departure day. I spend the next 8 to 10 hours loaded down by the drudgery of list making and packing. It's enough to make me swear off any future family vacations. But, like birthing a baby, you forget about the pain once you're on the road.
Because the next 8 to 10 hours are so much worse.
Every pre-departure day brings with it a distinctive meltdown. In the past, we've exploded over lost spatulas, misplaced tennis shoes, what kind of music CDs to bring, and excessive stuffed animal passengers. Our latest melt-down ocurred over laundry. I thought I'd done every last stitch of laundry in the house, but overlooked the one in our bedroom. Of course, this contained all of SO's newly purchased t-shirts and shorts, so he started a load about 7 o'clock and finally pulled it out of the dryer around 10 p.m.
"Oh, for crying out loud!" I heard him shout from the TV room. "These shirts are ridiculous! Look at these wrinkles!"
I checked the tags. "100 percent cotton. They'll need to be ironed." We stared at the pile of clothes, frozen like deer in the headlights of an H3.
I'm not sure what this little episode augurs for our trip to Memphis, but I think it has the potential for a great little blues song. Here's the first verse. I'll work on it some more and keep you posted, if I can find a local library in Little Rock that welcomes out-of-towners. Leave me some suggestions for a second verse, if you're up to a challenge.
Because the next 8 to 10 hours are so much worse.
Every pre-departure day brings with it a distinctive meltdown. In the past, we've exploded over lost spatulas, misplaced tennis shoes, what kind of music CDs to bring, and excessive stuffed animal passengers. Our latest melt-down ocurred over laundry. I thought I'd done every last stitch of laundry in the house, but overlooked the one in our bedroom. Of course, this contained all of SO's newly purchased t-shirts and shorts, so he started a load about 7 o'clock and finally pulled it out of the dryer around 10 p.m.
"Oh, for crying out loud!" I heard him shout from the TV room. "These shirts are ridiculous! Look at these wrinkles!"
I checked the tags. "100 percent cotton. They'll need to be ironed." We stared at the pile of clothes, frozen like deer in the headlights of an H3.
I'm not sure what this little episode augurs for our trip to Memphis, but I think it has the potential for a great little blues song. Here's the first verse. I'll work on it some more and keep you posted, if I can find a local library in Little Rock that welcomes out-of-towners. Leave me some suggestions for a second verse, if you're up to a challenge.
Hunnerd Percent Cotton Blues
Got me a package of t-shirts,
Washed 'em with water and soap.
Pulled 'em out of the dryer,
And lost e'vry last bit of hope...
Oh, I got the blues,
Hunnerd percent cotton blues.
Them shirts are wrinkled, and shrunken, and sad,
Don't know what it means, but it must be bad.
I got the blues, them hunnerd percent cotton blues.
Washed 'em with water and soap.
Pulled 'em out of the dryer,
And lost e'vry last bit of hope...
Oh, I got the blues,
Hunnerd percent cotton blues.
Them shirts are wrinkled, and shrunken, and sad,
Don't know what it means, but it must be bad.
I got the blues, them hunnerd percent cotton blues.
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