Old and tired and worn out

Today The Man and I went shopping at Uniqlo, a large discount clothing store which has opened a branch near here. Well, quite near. (It was a longer cycle than we'd anticipated.) We bought a few things for winter - polo neck tops, a couple of jerseys (sweaters, for Americans), and so on. It was all very cheap and the quality is good.

While we were there I was trying on a jersey and looked in a mirror. The lighting was good. Too good, in fact, and I got a nasty shock.

"God, I look horrible," I said to The Man. "Old and tired and worn out, like I'm sick or something."

The Man looked at me. "Don't worry," he said, cheerfully. "You always look tired. It's the shape of your eyes."

I ignored him and decided it was the colour of the sweater that was making me look so bad. I didn't buy that one.

Later we cycled to another place, quite a long way off in the other direction, and splashed out on a new top futon. It was on sale, but still quite expensive. Our old one is ratty. The feathers have gone all flat and it's not warm any more. It's very old.

When we got home The Man and I had a wee fight while we were struggling to get the futon into its cover. According to The Man I was doing it all wrong. According to me I was doing exactly the right thing and it was the stupid cover's fault, not mine. Why are those things so bloody difficult? Why don't they make it easier? Can't they make them so the covers open all down one side, instead of having to thread this great ballooning feathery thing through a small hole? It's silly.

Our fight had nothing to do with his comment at Uniqlo, of course. He was just being unreasonable about the futon, that's all.

The new futon feels great and the expense was worth it. I tested it. I would have stayed there, testing it some more, but I have to do the washing and then prepare some lessons for next week. We're going to a jazz concert tomorrow. The pianist is an old guy who is retiring, and this is his last concert. He's very good. And it's a good thing The Man remembered, because I'd forgotten all about it.