Wednesday, December 24, 2008

I would like to join a nudist colony.

I am becoming increasingly irritated with clothing manufacturers.

My latest pet peeve is tags sewn right into seams. Well, it's not my latest pet peeve since it's bothered me forever. It's just the one I'm going to whinge about now. Especially when those tags are on the side of a shirt, near the really tender part of the torso. Those are the worst, because they often create a bulgy spot in your shirt, right where a love handle goes. If I had love handles. Which I TOTALLY don't. The only way tag placement could be worse is if they were put in the armpit. Or the crotch.

I hate the feel of tags. Most of them itch or poke enough to hurt. I can think of several better ways to attach tags to clothing:

1) Make them of soft, nice material. Not shards of plastic.
2) Put them somewhere the skin isn't so sensitive. Say, the heel of the foot.
3) Make them of the kind of material that just rips off. I love those.
4) Use a whole extra five inches of thread and give them their own seams. That way I can remove my tags without my shirt falling apart.
5) Print them directly on the clothing. But don't use an ink that is also an allergen. Carter's did that once. That's an expensive recall.
6) Some combination of the above.

Instead, most of my shirts have huge, unrippable, sharp plastic tags sewn into the seam of the side of my torso. And all my pants have tags that are long and ouchy. This is not fun if they happen to infiltrate your underwear.

Tonight we go to my mother-in-law's house for Christmas Eve and Christmas. Hopefully The Child does not screech like a banshee all night. We've never tried having her actually sleep in the pack and play's bassinet before. It may be a very sleepy Christmas. But this is just the trial run. Next week, we make the five-hour trip down to Indiana to visit The Grandma-in-law, who is both awesome and a little scary to me at the same time. We will also be seeing many others of the Whine family, and I'm pretty sure The Child is going to make me look like a completely inept mother. That's okay. Then I'll have something to write about.

Firefox's newest upgrade has forced me to us Safari all the time. I like Safari a whole lot more than Internet Explorer, but compared to Old Firefox, it sucks. What were the Firefox people thinking? Why mess with a good thing? I miss you, Old Firefox. Please come back. I'll make you dinner.

I have to pack for our two-day outing. This used to mean throwing shampoo, conditioner, other toiletries in a bag, and then dumping a small selection of clothing in, too. Now it means bringing twelve outfits for each of us because The Child has plenty of stomach contents to share, and share she does. It's Christmas every day here! Also, the bouncy seat, the sling, forty million burp clothes, eighty-seven diapers, wipes, a pack and play, a bouncy seat, a swaddling blanket, sixty pairs of socks, a car seat, fourteen different varieties of Items That Soothe, a sling, and bottle-feeding and -cleaning equipment (I really like my eggnog, but probably shouldn't share it with Grace, though she might be easier to deal with if she were happily drunk).

When we get home, it'll be like moving in all over again. Only this time I won't be sixty-two months pregnant. That's a bonus.