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susandennisMy mother got a pacemaker installed about 4 years ago. Every month she checks it over the telephone and twice a year she goes into the pacemaker guy's office for a check. And every single time - every single time - she sends me an email about my grandmother.
About 40 years ago, my grandmother - her mother - got a pacemaker. At the time, it was a big deal. 10 years later, it had to be replaced and the joke was that grandma wore it out. I was alive and an adult and remember the event and the repeated references to it quite well, but, apparently, I need a monthly reminder now.
Today I got the 'going to get my pacemaker checked. When Grandma got one...' email.
Daddy was forever bringing home samples, tests and trials. Not new underwear but test underwear. We never got new underwear. We never got fancy underwear. We never got pretty underwear. They made samples and tests out of white cotton knit. If they hit a winner with the test, THEN they made it fancy. (But, not too fancy, Hanes Underwear was NOT the forerunner of Victoria Secrets - maybe Victor's Tighty Whitey Secrets, but not Victoria's.) So, I spent my entire growing up in underwear lust and my Mom - for whom sympathy was pretty much a waste of time - always just said 'well the shoemaker's children have no shoes.' Yeah, it was such a comfort.
This morning I have been wrestling with a piece of software. I'm not winning. I'm not even making progress. It's a home grown application needed to get business case studies available to the field sales folks. It is a piece of shit. And I keep hearing Mom talking about the fucking shoemaker's kids.
Yeah like Manolo Blahnik's kids are running around in flip flops.
About 40 years ago, my grandmother - her mother - got a pacemaker. At the time, it was a big deal. 10 years later, it had to be replaced and the joke was that grandma wore it out. I was alive and an adult and remember the event and the repeated references to it quite well, but, apparently, I need a monthly reminder now.
Today I got the 'going to get my pacemaker checked. When Grandma got one...' email.
Daddy was forever bringing home samples, tests and trials. Not new underwear but test underwear. We never got new underwear. We never got fancy underwear. We never got pretty underwear. They made samples and tests out of white cotton knit. If they hit a winner with the test, THEN they made it fancy. (But, not too fancy, Hanes Underwear was NOT the forerunner of Victoria Secrets - maybe Victor's Tighty Whitey Secrets, but not Victoria's.) So, I spent my entire growing up in underwear lust and my Mom - for whom sympathy was pretty much a waste of time - always just said 'well the shoemaker's children have no shoes.' Yeah, it was such a comfort.
This morning I have been wrestling with a piece of software. I'm not winning. I'm not even making progress. It's a home grown application needed to get business case studies available to the field sales folks. It is a piece of shit. And I keep hearing Mom talking about the fucking shoemaker's kids.
Yeah like Manolo Blahnik's kids are running around in flip flops.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-07 10:05 am (UTC)Your story makes me think we got lucky by not being test subjects.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-07 10:53 am (UTC)