Ahh, Thanksgiving. The time when Hubby gets to spend a week among his own kind. And our kinds could not be more different.
Mom: Scissors? Oh, I don't know, Dear. Just use something else.
Hubby: You can't just sub-in any old utensil for scissors, Mom. Their functionality is pretty specific.
Mom: Just get something out of the knife drawer.
Hubby: Mom! Someone could lose a limb in there. I'll go buy you some new scissors. Where are your keys?
Mom: Keys? Oh, I don't know, Dear.
I, on the other hand, grew up in a home with the motto A Place For Everything and It Damn Well Better Be There.
Me: Mother, where are the scissors?
Mother: Do you need the kitchen ones, the office ones, the sewing ones, the everyday ones, or the ones in the garage? Or do you need the pinking shears or the shredding scissors?
Me: I just need to cut off this thread.
Mother: Then get the sewing scissors. They're in my sewing box in the closet in the office. Just open the top and they're in the second compartment on the left, next to that cute pincushion you made for me in Brownies.
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, whatever your kind!
*a Scribbles holiday repeat!