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finefoxyladiesFor some reason, this popped into my head the other day, and I thought some people may or may not enjoy it: every time I moved, whether it was to a dorm room or a house or apartment, my mom always wanted to be there to make my bed. She claimed this was something her own mom suggested as a way to make your new place feel like home.
When I moved into my last EC apartment--the one by the Pick 'n' Save and Mike's Smokehouse for those of you in the EC geography know--Mom even swung by Wal-Mart for me and brought me a new bedpad and sheets. As I opened the bedpad, I stared at the packaging, and then at my mom, who was unpacking my clean sheets from my new laundry basket (What can I say? She provided).
"Mom, this bedpad is for bedwetters."
She stopped what she was doing. "No, it isn't. No."
I turned the packaging to face her. Twin set. Plastic insert to prevent leakage into the mattress.
I asked dryly (Ed. note: dude, I only realized after hitting "Post Entry" that I made a pun; BASK IN THE PUN, SUCKERS), "Are you trying to tell me something?"
She laughed until she had to sit down on the floor. I might have kept the routine up for the rest of the day, pointedly indicating when I was going to use the toilet like a big girl.
A few years later, when I was living back at the homestead in Amery, I called my mom's cell to request that she pick up some feminine products on the way home, as I had forgotten to pick them up when I stopped at the grocery store.
She mistakenly picked up Poise pads.
When I moved into my last EC apartment--the one by the Pick 'n' Save and Mike's Smokehouse for those of you in the EC geography know--Mom even swung by Wal-Mart for me and brought me a new bedpad and sheets. As I opened the bedpad, I stared at the packaging, and then at my mom, who was unpacking my clean sheets from my new laundry basket (What can I say? She provided).
"Mom, this bedpad is for bedwetters."
She stopped what she was doing. "No, it isn't. No."
I turned the packaging to face her. Twin set. Plastic insert to prevent leakage into the mattress.
I asked dryly (Ed. note: dude, I only realized after hitting "Post Entry" that I made a pun; BASK IN THE PUN, SUCKERS), "Are you trying to tell me something?"
She laughed until she had to sit down on the floor. I might have kept the routine up for the rest of the day, pointedly indicating when I was going to use the toilet like a big girl.
A few years later, when I was living back at the homestead in Amery, I called my mom's cell to request that she pick up some feminine products on the way home, as I had forgotten to pick them up when I stopped at the grocery store.
She mistakenly picked up Poise pads.