Published: February 10, 2013
Am I the only person out there who has zipper issues?
I bought a quality name-brand down-filled coat on sale last year, and at first, I loved it.
But after about five wearings, the zipper started separating at tummy level, which entailed unzipping it completely, realigning it, and zipping it all the way back up again.
A favorite sleeveless puffy vest does the same thing. I must perpetually keep about 6 inches zipped from the bottom and must zip it all the way up when I put it on, and then zip it down and back up again to secure it. Go figure.
It would no doubt be less troublesome if there were some wiggle room and it didn’t fit so snuggly.
Snug clothing reminds me of my tennis buddy Tracy.
Tracy is painfully thin, and yet a very good tennis player, and she also complained about her warmup suit, saying, “They just don’t make the smalls small enough.”
“And they don’t make the larges large enough, either Tracy,” I replied.
Oh, well – again.
Then there’s the conundrum of what to do with the unrequested return address labels printed with my name and address sent to me by a nonprofit organization and its suggested contribution of $3, which seems fair enough.
There were a lot of labels for $3, and I really wouldn’t mind sending in the donation except I presume it would open up the door for a whole lot of other unsolicited solicitations.
If I don’t send a donation I’ll feel guilty. If I throw the labels in the trash, I’ll fee guilty. I’ll feel equally guilty if I use them and don’t send a donation.
I think I’ll send $3 cash, along with a nickle, and remove any references to my name. I’ll probably throw the labels in the trash anyway.
Then there’s the issue of the two separate mailings I received within a week touting a new four-star book on quilting. At least I think that’s what they’re selling.
I enjoying reading quilting magazines from time to time and subscribed to one in a weak moment.
No doubt that’s where they got my name.
Each of these mailings was accompanied by many more than one piece of paper, one offering to test the “book free for 30 day” and each promised a “free gift” if I responded right away.
The problem was neither offer told me how much the book cost, either in the accompanying literature or on the reply card to be mailed back.
I scoured the printed material offering hints of “quilters favorite tips” and reply cards to determine the amount, but all I found was a note – in fine print – that I could pay for all the above in three equal installments of $6.47, or some similar amount. Neither could I find the sticker to attach to the reply card to qualify me for another free gift if I sent it within a specified number of days.
I find it strange that someone would commit to buy something when the cost is unknown.
I wonder if I’m the only person who has found that odd.
“First world problems,” as my sister Kelley would say.
Aren’t I blessed that such trivial concerns can occupy so much of my day?
‘Til next week.
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