Katie Doyle, Girl About Town

Sunday, Feb. 22, 2004 - 6:10 a.m.

Diaryland Quote(s) of the Day:
"Here I am, the ultra-cool hipster teen with the grandmum panties sticking out of my low-rider jeans. Doesn't everyone absolutely envy me now? You and your cool thong can go home because my Hanes Her Way totally own you." --Ahna

So, this is what I learned today: No matter how good an idea it seems at the time � and I can not stress this enough � do not untie a hank of seed beads.

Now, you may ask yourself why not? Why not untie that hank of seed beads and retie the individual strands? That way they're easier to store, and there's less chance of scattering them everywhere if I drop my bead box. And that is a totally reasonable thought, my friend, but trust me: It is a very bad idea.

See, it turns out the strands really aren't long enough to retie. They probably would be, if you slipped some of the little seed beads off of them and, theredoing, obtained for yourself a little extra string, but as I have now discovered - thus saving you the agony of making such a discovery yourself - seed beads are amazingly slippery. Especially when the thing they're slipping off of is an untied string. And then a wood table. And onto a hardwood floor.

By the 100's.

There were seed beads everywhere, my friends. They streamed across the floor in all directions, bouncing down the hall with little clicking noises every time they bouced...and bounced. And bounced. And for just that moment, the millisecond before they all hit the floor, the millisecond during which I realized exactly what I had just done, all I could think was, "Oh, no." Then the diabolical little monsters rained down on me and the table and the floor, and I watched them flooding out and away from me in this big, sort of fan-shaped arc, and when all the little bouncing clicks stopped, I sat there covered in seed beads, wondering how I was going to get to the broom to pick them all up without stepping on them, being, as they are, made of glass and breakable when you step on them. Which I know from personal experience, having stepped on them in the past. And then stepping on a piece of that same bead later, when I had bare feet, which yes, is a really sucky experience.

When I recovered from the post traumatic stress, I stood up - raining more seed beads down onto the floor, because you may think you have all the seed beads picked out of your clothing, but trust me, you do not - and eased my way across the floor, gingerly stepping into the spaces between beads that were big enough for me to tiptoe thru whilst wearing my sneakers, and went for the broom. Which actually turned out to be on the other side of the kitchen, and not out in the garage, so after I wound my way thru the mine field successfully, I had to do it again, this time less successfully, and then do it again, because the cloths for the swiffery sweeper thing are in the closet next to the garage door. Where the broom used to be, before I packed it so full of other things that there's no more room for the broom or vacuum in there. That accomplished, I returned to the kitchen, only to discover that in my quest for the swiffery cloths, I had left the swiffery sweeper thing leaning against the counter on the far side of the kitchen.

In my defense, I had just travailed across a treacherous field of tiny little slippery glass doughnuts and was slightly in shock, so I think it a reasonably understandable thing I forgot to take the broom across with me, focussed, as I was, on the fact that I needed the swiffery cloths, and not being used to there being crossing issues in my own kitchen. But still, DUH.

So anyway, once the little cloth thing was on the swiffery thing, it wasn't all that gigantic a matter to round all the little fiends up from various corners and shadowy areas under things, and I'm sure I should be saying thank you, because there were parts of my living room - under the couch, for example - which have apparently not been swept for some time, but I'm sure I will be stumbling across brightly colored bits of glass from time to time for oh, say the next 50 years, because my god, man, there were thousands of them. It was terrible. Stronger women have been driven to drink by less.

Well, okay, that's a tad melodramatic. But there were a lot of them. And now they're all dusty, with wee bits of dust bunny fluff mixed in here and there.

Oh, the humanity.

Peace out,
Katie

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