Saturday, September 19, 2009

Just after turning out the light, as we lay in bed. . . .

5:52 PM

Wonderman: I think I'm genetically pre-disposed to make charts.


Me: ??!!??? (that indicates a bit of brow-wrinkling thought) Bwahahahaha. You are the funniest man I know.

Conclusion: The funnest thing ever is being married to the funniest man I know. How lucky am I? LUCKY.

Ah, the ironing!

5:32 PM

For a while now, I have been thinking to myself how funny it would be to have something that was funny with the play on words of "ah, the ironing!" in a situation which was also ironic and the exasperated claim would be saying that somehow the ironing was ironic. I have yet to come up with the perfect comedic sketch, but I was lucky enough to experience an ironic ironing moment. And yes, I was exasperated.

As mentioned elsewhere, Wonderman recently had a white coat ceremony. I hadn't thought twice about my role in said ceremony until another spouse mentioned, with exasperation, mind you, that she had spent a good amount of time ironing her partner's white coat. "What?" I thought. "I have to iron that? But we don't even have an iron! Alas, I already am a failure as a homemaker."

Near tears (not really, that just sounds more dramatic, and thus more exciting) a mere hours before the ceremony, I frantically called exactly one person who lives approximately 30 seconds walk from my house to see if she had an iron I could borrow. She did. It wasn't pretty.
I realized I not only had no ironing board, but also no great table close to an outlet (they are few and FAR between in our home) to use as an improvised ironing board. I used the stove, as it has a great, and flat, cover. I put a towel over it. It still wasn't pretty.

The irony comes in with the yuckiness on the iron. I was using a cloth to separate the pristine white coat from the yuckiness (see, I do have some skill). The iron was leaving no marks whaaatsoever on the separator cloth, which was cream. I quickly decided it wasn't worth the bother and, immediately upon removing the separator cloth, left a large black mark directly on the collar of Wonderman's snowy white coat. "Are you kidding me?" thought I. It wasn't kidding me. It stood out just a little. In desperation, I dove toward the sink and began to scrub (lucky I was in the kitchen, eh?). I was able to remove most of the mark, but the coat was quite unlike things that are dry. Alas.

Never fear, I was able to iron-steam out most of the moisture and Wonderman couldn't even tell where the ginormous mark of coal had been. Still, I'm not sure that there will be much ironing (never can tell about the irony, though) in my life down here. Meh, who really cares anyway, right? Not Wonderman, thank goodness.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Dinner Conversation

7:17 PM

Wonderman: Sounds like you two are becoming tight friends.

Me: Yeah, I think we were sent here for each other.

Wonderman: Aw, cue the music.

Conclusion: He's funny. I'm glad I married him, even when he makes fun of me a little.


6:47 PM

So, I knew that the humidity would make my hair curlier, but seriously? Who ordered this? When I got here I had no hair products whaaaat-soever (Irma, can you here to headmaster from the Monty Python sketch saying "He seems to take no interest in school life whaaaat-soever"? cuz, that's exactly how I want that to sound). They all got tossed in the frantic, early-morning weight-reduction scramble the morning we flew out. My head very closely resembled a cotton ball or a little old lady (nothing against little old ladies, mind you [and not that my head looked like the entire lady, because that would be really strange. My head simply looked like it belonged on a little old lady]) for the first few days we were here. The only hair products here are for "African" hair (it's interesting, I don't really consider myself European, but I guess I'm just as European as the locals here are African, still I was a little taken aback when I saw an ad for a stylist who specializes in European hair and was approached specifically with their flyer. Weird.). I needed something, so I bought a bottle of hair gloss/shine/hold stuff for African hair and it's been working great. Hooray! Some days it still looks like this, though:

That bit is the radiation hair, which might begin to explain it, but still. It's insane. Maybe there's something somewhere in my heritage that someone should tell me about. Where does this come from? I'm beginning to get the feeling that in the next sixteen months, my hair will not get longer, it will only get bigger. Sigh.

ps - Irma, if you ever get the hankering to make more of those super-cute headbands as pictured above, I know a hot and sweaty girl down here who would LOVE to have one to match every shirt she owns. Just so you know.

Precious Life

5:52 PM

My internet usage has been, for the past two months, limited to say the least. So, when I see things like this: icanread

instead of thinking of how wise it may be, I just sort of wish that I could. Sigh.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Upon being called as the new Primary President in the Portsmouth Branch

10:28 AM

Me: (groaning a little, laughing a little) Doesn't Heavenly Father know that I have absolutely no idea how to deal with small children?

Wonderman: (laughing a lot) Actually, I think it's quite clear that He has a very good idea of that.

Me: (laughing) Sigh. I guess so.

Conclusion: It's going to be quite a ride.