Quality Control

The flag that I was given at the naturalization ceremony. The one we were told to wave after we were sworn in. (The actual waving of the flags was quite anticlimactic and disjointed. We weren't really sure if we were supposed to wave after the first oath, or the pledge of allegiance, or when the judge walked out of the room. Plus, we were grown people with self respect. I wasn't about to show my relief by giddily shaking a tiny piece of cloth every few seconds.) Note a fourteenth blue stripe at the bottom of the flag. And all the loose threads. And the staples. They really went all out with their patriotic gear on this one.

I love non-tag clothing, what with the no tags and all. Keeps my skin itch free. But in the absence of tags and letters, there are instructions printed directly onto the clothing and I can't really decipher what it is trying to tell me. It's like a secret, between clothing and skin, except I don't know what it is. I hope it doesn't say anything about fireants. That would itch more than tags.

I hate it when I'm scooped. I was going to write a blurb about Maria today and reinstate my 'Person of the Week' thing that I tried to do a couple of years ago, but she had to go ahead and beat me to it by sending me a nice email. I don't like to be out-niced. So I guess the paragraph on how absolutely gracious, wondrously frank, thoughtful, and willing to do whatever it takes to help she is, and how awesome it is that she listens so carefully to people, all that is getting shelved.