Weekly Flylady Thread 2nd October 2017

I've been a bit busy for a few days, so I apologise for not contributing.

Happy belated birthday, ATB; so sorry to have missed it. :bdaycake:.
I hope Mr Jojo has recovered his equilibrium and finished bleaching the bathroom. (The people you work with sound really nasty.)
Hugely well done Ionafan!
Welcome back, Lil Me! :wave:
I hope Mr Pigpen's first day at his new job went really well.

Extremely irritating lodger left today - hurrah - but not until she'd let Devil Cat out. I was so angry I turned both letting rooms around straight away, cleaned the shower room and did three loads of washing all without pausing for anything other than coffee and then made OH brunch. I suppose I should be grateful but mostly I'm just hugely relieved she's finally gone. OH then did the washing up, turned the fridge out, dealt with the rubbish and vacuumed the top layer. For the first time in years we're both in the sitting room on a Sunday afternoon doing not much. *Bliss*

Work done
Dinner done
WM is on
Cat has had treats
I'm chilling

Oh, Lord.

Himself decided to check his emails. He *might* have an interview at some point this week.

So I had to convince him that he should get off his sorry arze and come with me into town to get something vaguely appropriate for an interview.

I think I switched into School Uniform Shopping mode after all these years. :mad:

We get into the Hell that is Primchav on a Sunday afternoon. I find the 'Smart' section instantly. He trails behind.

I stand waiting beside the trousers, knowing that ideally, a charcoal suit would be better, but he would refuse point blank. He looks a bit confused when he gets there. I ask him 'what size?' and he replies 32R.

So I dive into the rail and come out with a pair of 34S with a fair amount of give in the waist, standard fit to give some movement - and they are not the [strike]tacky[/strike] shiny skinny cut ones he started heading towards. Before he's even had a chance to turn his nose up at them (because I've told him to hold them up against himself to check they're a good length - perfect distraction), I'm looking for smart shirts with collar sizes as he calls out 'Small to Medium'. He gets presented with a blue 16" collar. He does not know this represents a Large.

'If you aren't wearing a suit, you'll definitely have to wear a tie'

'I've got ties'.

'I meant without aliens wearing Christmas hats. Dark red or burgundy?' I think he has grasped the concept that this is not a democracy.

'Um, yeah.'

'Great, here you go. You like the way the tones complement one another?' 'Yep.' 'And you're absolutely certain your black shoes aren't knackered?'

'Positive'.

'And you know that when you go into a building, you have to take your hat off?'

'Yes, you made that pretty clear when I didn't at that Church thing last year'.

'Great. Let's go'.

We were out of there in under twenty minutes flat, most of which was spent silently hating everybody else and their whining offspring and need to send their spouse to wait in the queue whilst they wander off and do another 10 minutes' shopping before barging up the line.


Got in, he tries it all on. It fits reasonably for off the peg (32 regular my arze, 34S is pushing credibility here, but if he adds his decent belt, that will cover a multitude of sins, especially as his shoes are quite chunky and the fall should be pretty much across his forefoot without taking them up), and will look better once the shirt doesn't have the creases from packing going across the middle. He says 'I'll hang it up and the creases will drop out'.


I give it five minutes before going up, retrieve the ironing board from down the side of the wardrobe, drag the extremely expensive steam generator that hasn't seen the light of day in 6 years out of the cupboard, fire it up and get it looking like a shirt, or as much as you can with cheap clothing and the knowledge he would probably start hyperventilating if I put some starch into it. I quickly chuck the manky wire coathanger under the kitchen sink for dealing with blockages (where did it come from? I don't have the things in the house?) and put the shirt onto a decent wooden hanger, doing up the top buttons to help it hold its shape and transfer the trousers onto the proper trouser hangers. I also take the opportunity to give his trilby (yes, he has one - his head gets cold, what with there being no hair on it) a quick steam to bring it back up to wearable condition. And 'accidentally' drop the baseball caps behind where the ironing board lives.


If he doesn't polish his shoes later, I expect I'll end up doing that as well. And there will be a check that he knows how to knot a tie to ensure he doesn't end up looking like one of those idiots on the Apprentice with knots nearly as large as their egos.


Hurummphhh. Why do I know this stuff and he doesn't?

ETA: he's entering the Toxic Waste Dump. Aka, the kitchen. I might have mentioned that I'm not eating anything prepared in there until it's been dealt with.

pigpen wrote: »

He does!! But in true 'man-baby' style he is playing dumb knowing you will turn into his mamma and do it for him!

If I didn't, knowing the requirements of the sort of job it is, he'd fail at the first hurdle for looking like a homeless person. Or not turn up. At which point I'd murderise him before despatching his mangled remains at his mother's.

As he's been on the receiving end of a considerable about of my ire about postponing the wedding because he didn't get anything ready - but adamant that he wants to get married (it was his idea in the first place, after all :cool:) and getting rather worried that I might tell him to stick it - and a claim that he has never had a job that required such things - I'm thinking that he would be truly suicidal to think that I'd tolerate him not getting round to it in the hope I'd take over.


Mind you, his mother is the weediest, wimpiest person in the world. His Dad told a story in the summer where she decided she wouldn't mapread on a driving holiday because she might get it wrong after he asked her if she was sure it was second right or third. He waited until she'd dozed off in the passenger seat and drove them straight back home again.

He left her a few years back.


He needs to be at least a bit more like his dad, as he doesn't wait for other people to make decisions for him. I know he can, because he has done before now - like leaving a job that paid double my salary. Just got to make the alternatives so much less appealing than doing nothing.