There are any number of traits I didn’t get in line for just before entering this earthly realm – brains, math skills, memory, and to hear my Momma tell it, common sense. I also didn’t get in line for the traits common to my gender – nurturing, painted fingernails and fashion. These are the traits that immediately come to mind. If I thought about it for longer than a minute, I would come up with a list long enough to seriously depress myself.
Not being a fashionista, I tend to look upon any article of clothing as a necessity to cover my nekkidness so that people aren’t passing out in the street from the horror of it all. I’ve already told you about my Shoes With Air and my general refusal to buy articles of clothing. I’m reaching a crisis with the shoes. I figure by the end of next summer, I won’t have a single pair of canvas shoes with enough canvas and rubber to hold them together. I was willing to buy them on sale at $3 but these days they cost $8 and I can’t justify $8. There are psychological limits to spending.
Take garden gloves. Anything over fifty cents is too much. I tend to buy garden gloves at the end of the season on the clearance shelf when the price meets up with my psychological limit. There is no way I will pay full price for a thin piece of fabric sewn with thread made before WWII. The first time you pull them on they begin to unravel.
The problem with fifty cent gloves are the thorns. The thin fabric is absolutely no match for trimming or deadheading anything with thorns. I finally broke down and purchased a pair of cow hide gloves at one of those hardware stores where all the products are manufactured in a third world country. I wanted soft leather gloves like Poppie wears but they had only one size. Large. Slid right off my hands and fell on the floor.
The cow hide gloves became the purchase of choice because they were available in Size Medium. I don’t know where they got the cow but I suspect the cow drew its last breath before the Spanish American War. Did I mention they are STIFF? You put these things on and your hands stick straight out from your body with all five fingers splayed out. Don’t believe me? Take a look at this:
I briefly thought about throwing them in the washing machine with some fabric softener but since that cow was so old, there was the distinct possibility that the gloves would shrivel up to nothingness. The clincher against washing them was not finding washing instructions inside the gloves.
I don’t remember exactly, but I think I paid five dollars for them. The fact that I can’t bend my fingers is inconsequential, I suppose, considering the likelihood they’ll last forever with such an advanced case of rigor mortis. Holding a pair of clippers, though, is a challenge.