Four Things that Really Burn My Biscuits

Hi there!

So, I’ve recently slimmed down a bit (#HumbleBrag). Then again, I did the protein-shake situation and hit the gym, so it wasn’t the most delightful month. However, it paid off…right as summer is ending.

To celebrate my svelter self, I purchased two new bathing suits for our final beach trip last week. And, after that purchase, I decided to write this post.

Do you want to know what really ruffles my feathers? Gets my goat? Grinds my gears? (Thank you, Google search).

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My 1930s-inspired, high-waisted two-piece from Old Navy. This is where the summer’s peevishness began.

1. Removable cup pads. 

What. The. Hey.

Ladies, please give me an “amen!” here.

So, you get a new bathing suit. After you brave up and peel off that non-effective sticker from the suit’s lady area, you toss the suit in the wash, because there’s always the chance some strange-o peeled off that label, tried on the suit commando, then reapplied the adhesive. No? Just me? Then, when you pull it out of the wash…

Bam.

That flimsy, little cup pad is wadded up inside the bathing suit top.

And how do the manufacturers expect you to solve the problem? A ridiculously microscopic hole in which you can fit your pinky finger nail.

Drives me bananas. Just sew the dang things into place! Unless you’re breastfeeding and may spring a leak, there is zero reason to remove the pad! And women clearly need the pad in good, working condition.

Numero dos.

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So, I couldn’t come up with another related photo, so here’s a picture of Olivia at the beach.

2. That recorded woman on everyone’s voicemai

Honestly. Why is she there? Who is she? Does she get a commission every time someone has to listen to her explain the instructions of how to leave a voicemail?! Who doesn’t know to leave a message after the beep? Why is she taking up more of my time? Also, can anyone explain what a numeric page is? If you’ve ever sent one my way, I definitely haven’t heard/received/understood it.

Moving on.

3. Feather pillows.

I know this could be a touchy subject. However, if you like feather pillows, I wholeheartedly believe you’re wrong. Or you’ve never slept on a different kind of pillow. If that’s the case, friend, go buy yourself a nice memory-foamer. Your neck will thank you. And me.

I just don’t get it. You go to bed fooled and lulled into a false sense of security. The pillow is fluffy and gently cups your weary head. Then, about 12:28 a.m., you wake up with your head flat against the bed. I mean, really, a pillow has one job, and the feather pillow fails miserably.

4. The crushed-ice conundrum.

For the first time in our married life, the Hubs and I have an ice dispenser on the outside of our refrigerator. At our last house, we didn’t even have an ice maker, so we’re clearly moving up in the world.

I have taken issue with said dispenser, however. I like whole cubes. My husband likes crushed ice. The ice-crusher mechanism struggles to keep this straight. If he recently snagged a glass of crushed, the fridge still believes I want crushed, even if I’ve pushed the “cubed” button. And vice versa. So, I assume neither of us will ever be truly happy with our requested ice types.


OK, friends, lay it on me. What toasts your bread? What steams your clams?

For more Mama, follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

 

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