I have no idea how this happened, but about a year ago, I started receiving magazines. Yes, paper, printed, olde fashioned magazines. I didn’t order them. Some of them I don’t really read. I just immediately remove my name and address and toss those puppies into the recycling bin.
I never get bills to pay for them. They just show up about every three weeks. I get, “Better Homes and Gardens,” “Shape,” “Health,” and recently one magazine was replaced with, “People.” I even got an official letter explaining the switch.
I hardly ever read, “People.” Too many damn celebrities I don’t give a rat’s ass about. Too many celebrities I’ve never heard of. I guess I’m getting older. I consider not recognizing names that are allegedly famous, a perk of getting older.
Anyhoo, yesterday I received the latest, “People,” and bless their celebrity-loving hearts, the cover reveals a story inside about salacious murder in Missouri. Ooh, I love true crime. Who am I kidding? I love fictional crime, too. I just love observing human behavior.
The humor came at the end of the magazine. After I devoured the story of the murderous Pamela (great name, but a scary person) Hupp, and the mini-series on her, produced by NBC, and starring Renee Zellweger, I found my message from the Gods and Goddesses.
I’ve railed numerous times, here and on Facebook, about how much I loathe folding sheets, especially, fitted ones.
Well, Lookie here:
Yeah, I’ll probably continue to do what my FB friend, Liz, suggested: stuff the sheets into each of the two pillowcases.
Another perk about growing older is not giving a rat’s ass about how wrinkled my sheets are.