crap no. 50

I survived yet another teaching year without being recruited into a youth gang. I consider this a major win.

I mentioned this on Facebook, but because I assume my typical reader is 87 years old and thinks The Facebooks is trying to steal their retirement savings, I thought I’d put a recommendation here. (My site is secure, Gramps. I spend big bucks to keep it locked down, so if you could send me some of your money to help cover the cost, that would be great. This is not a scam.) My pal Jenni introduced me to this Facebook group and it is the best of the best. It’s called THIS CAT IS CHONKY, and it will fill your Facebook feed with cats, hilarity, and acceptance. Life changing, A+, 10/10, join ASAP.

My French sister-in-law sent a message from a recent work trip to Athens which read: I’m currently in a meeting with about 25 nationalities. And thinking a lot about Rachael, as our presenter has used the word hassle about 5-6 times in 5 minutes. But pronounces it asshole.

I was so pleased that she thought of me, you know? Then she noted that the presenter was scheduled to speak for 90 minutes and I almost died of happiness.

Recently I asked 2.0 if he needed anything at the mall because I hate the mall and go only once a year. I figured I should make the trip worthwhile.

movita: Have you had a chance to think about it? Do you need anything at the mall? 

2.0: Nah, I don’t think so. I’m good. 

movita: Oka–

2.0: Wait! A box of chocolates.

movita: A box of chocolates?

2.0: Yes. 

movita: That’s a weird request. 

2.0: You asked if I needed anything. Laura Secord is at the mall. I could use a box of chocolates.

movita: I guess I was thinking more along the lines of underwear, a t-shirt, new pant–

2.0: I gave my answer.

The man knows what he wants. And it ain’t underwear.

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https://www.instagram.com/p/BuuUkOjlpLx/

ALERT: Dorey has a doppelgänger on Instagram.  ⬆️ ⬆️ ⬆️

I highly recommend following Willoughby despite the fact that he shares a last name with my enemies.

You know in those movies when investigators walk into a house and see half-eaten breakfast on the table and they say something like, “Someone sure left in a hurry,” and there’s an eerie vibe and you know something real bad has happened in that small town?

Those are 2.0’s slippers and pyjama bottoms up there. I assume he needed to get somewhere in a hurry – maybe to save a life – and simply dropped his drawers and made a break for it. FYI, this is a typical scene in our house. I find footwear and pants on the floor and no 2.0. It’s like he just steps out of his clothing and into a secret identity. Where does he go? And how is it that his pants fall into a perfect pool on the floor every time?

I Marie Kondo-ed my closet big time. As in: I purged it of almost everything I own, which was a huge problem when I was invited out for dinner one night. I had a warm winter sweater, a parka, and one pair of yoga pants that spark joy.

I would have to go shopping for clothes.

I loathe shopping for clothes because I don’t have a ‘signature style’ and I get very confused and overwhelmed in stores. So this time I went armed with a colour scheme. I figured if I stuck to specific colours everything would fit together nicely and it would narrow my search criteria to something manageable. I also committed to avoiding frumpy, middle-aged, tired-office-worker items at all costs. This is necessary when you spend a fair amount of time photographing disgustingly gorgeous dancers. (Because you also spend a fair amount of time feeling like a hobbit.)

I instantly regretted my decision to be hip when I ran into one of my 14-year-old students in H&M and we were holding the same items. I looked at her and said, “Wait… this can’t be right.” And she just stood there looking at me like: put it down — that’s it, nice and slow — good, good — now walk away.

Despite a few setbacks I pushed on and emerged with a new warm-weather wardrobe after two full days of torture shopping. Exhausted and only almost-defeated, I was feeling pretty good about my purchases. When 2.0 got home from work he insisted that I model my new wardrobe. When he saw my new pink gingham pants he said I looked great, “Like a tablecloth!” And when I showed him my very trendy joggers he said, “So… jogging pants. Those are jogging pants.”

“No,” I said, “they are joggers. They are different. The youths working at H&M told me so.”

“But they are soft and they have cuffs and they look lik–“

“No. They are very cool and I was told I can definitely pull them off.”

“But they look just like jogging pant–“

“THEY ARE DIFFERENT HONEY PLEASE STOP TALKING.”

So, yes, I am filled with the fear that I have purchased a pile of clothing that is far too young for me, but I’ve also had more compliments on my clothes this week than any other week of my entire life.

Related: I’m going back to high school in September.

I sent the message below to 2.0 the other day. I’ve been scouting locations for photo shoots and like to tell him where I’ll be – particularly if it’s an isolated location on a very windy day.

Will do.

Those would have been the last words 2.0 shared with me had I been murdered on that trail or blown out to sea. We have a lowkey relationship. If you’re stitch enough to wear joggers you’ll know what this means.