Pert Plus, squealing tires, ATM

Last night, I was taking one of those baths that end up being converted to a shower in order to shampoo and condition the hair. I know most people hate the feeling of standing in the shower while there is still bath water in it, but I found myself rather enjoying it. I realized, while standing in a pool of my own filth, that this is one of the things that will change living in our house. Our house has a bath tub, and in the same bathroom, a shower, yet not together.

It made me realize that separation seems to be the trend. More possessions, even when they serve similar functions = more. For example, it is no longer practical and accepted to use Pert Plus shampoo + conditioner the way we all did in the early 90s. And I don’t know a single person who has ever purchased one of those DVDs that has two separate movies on it but comes on the same disc and in the same case with a split down the middle and two skinny movie covers on it, even though they are half the price of two movies.

When I was driving home tonight, I realized what the worst sound to me is. It is not the tornado siren for me like it is for my co-worker. She came in at lunch saying, “why are the tornado sirens going off? It is rather muggy outside…” It took four of us confirming the first Wednesday of the month is the new test day before she exhaled. The worst sound to me is the squealing of tires. When I heard it, I slammed my brakes on on I-80 and almost caused an accident myself. My heart lept into my throat — I know it sounds corny and overused, but it is a truly accurate description of my body’s reaction. I have been driving for ten years now, so I don’t think it’s too early to retire from the world of convenient mobility altogether.

I stopped at the bank to make a deposit, and even though the teller line was open, I opted for the ATM. I would rather depend on a machine to handle my money than a human. I once gave a teller my deposit and she inverted my account number, thus causing hundreds of dollars in overdraft fees and weeks of confusion. Probably the only time I don’t opt for the less-personal automated choice is on the phone with one of those machines that says, “sorry, I didn’t catch that, did you say elephant poopstick?” and I say, “no, I said ‘check balance,'” and she says, “was that ‘I want to be in a heroin trance’?” There is nothing more frustrating to someone who has the high level of impatience that I have acquired.

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