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blushnote · 5 years ago

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Hi can I request Dom!Mingyu Smut where he’s a nurse and your a doctor? Maybe where you two have been secretly dating. Throwing in Dr. Jeon Wonwoo flirting with you in office causing Mingyu to pull you into the nearest closet.

↳ requested | 3.5k words

↳ nurse!mingyu smut

a/n: i had so much fun writing this lol. it reminded me of when i used to watch house and like… the first two seasons of grey’s anatomy. i love nurse!mingyu :(

you’ve been on your feet the entire day, almost to a point where your legs feel like gel and the idea of sitting seems like an abnormal luxury. the second you emerge from one room, you immediately get paged to another, and so many patients have flown in and out that your head aches when you try to recall who you even saw first. you think you need a couple painkillers.

it isn’t until you exit the autopsy headquarters that you find yourself with some downtime. the halls are a little emptier, there aren’t so many nurses hurrying around, and you can actually hear your own thoughts. you decide to visit the cafeteria, sitting down at a table near the window with nothing but a blueberry muffin. at this point, you’re not even hungry anymore.

after picking at the muffin for a few measly minutes, you see another doctor with a white lab coat enter the space and grab a juice from the glass refrigerator. doctor jeon makes eye contact with you, and proceeds to pull up a chair at your table. he collapses with a great sigh, pushing back some of the black hair that slips in front of his gaze. his expression is tired but gentle.

“man, what a long fucking day,” doctor jeon, otherwise known as wonwoo, comments.

you push the muffin away from you while yawning, “yeah, i think i got called to the autopsy room like twenty times.”

wonwoo chuckles and takes a sip of his juice. “i spent the whole day taking MRI scans. if i have to examine another screen i think my eyes are gonna dry up.”

you both huff in half-hearted amusement. suddenly, the sound of laughter echoes from the wide hallway, and you can’t help but smile upon seeing mingyu and junhui enter the cafeteria, dressed in their pale blue scrubs. they’re two nurses from the west wing, though they don’t seem to be staying. instead, they each pay for a snack cake and get ready to leave again.

however, mingyu catches your eye, and he winks at you.

wonwoo didn’t see that exchange, thankfully. it wasn’t that relationships between doctors and nurses couldn’t be a thing, it’s just that they were strongly not advised. everyone in the hospital feels obliged to know the details and likes to gossip. you and mingyu had been secretly dating for a while, and it was extremely difficult to ensure no one caught onto your relationship.

“sometimes i hate the nurses,” wonwoo scoffs innocuously, “they always have so much energy. what’s up with that?”

“couldn’t tell you,” you respond, “but i want whatever it is they’re having.”

you and mingyu live in the same apartment complex. in fact, he’s just a couple doors down from your own room. you spend an abundance more time at his place; not only is he an excellent cook, but he keeps the space tidy, and his wine collection is definitely more established than yours.

admittedly, some of your favourite moments transpired after you two got slightly tipsy upon consuming multiple glasses of alcohol, usually preluded by an exhausting shift at the hospital. mingyu would start a warm bath, filling it with mild and pretty scents, like honey grass or lemon thyme. he’d light a few candles, prompting you to strip down and relax together in the tub.

an intense heat floods your face as you sit with wonwoo in the cafeteria. you can’t stop thinking about how good it feels to ride mingyu in the bathtub, amongst the shimmering water and candlelight, his hands guiding the movement of your hips while his cock presses into you so deeply you can’t even speak. you can sense the drool start to build in your mouth.

“hey,” you then grab wonwoo’s attention, wanting to distract yourself, “do you have any painkillers on you? my head is going crazy.”

“not on me,” wonwoo responds, “but i think i saw some in the debriefing station, at the west wing. you up for a walk?”

“i guess i am now.” you smile, already standing up from the chair. it hurt you to throw out the rest of your muffin, but you know you aren’t going to finish it.

you really like wonwoo. he started working at the hospital at roughly the same time as you, which resulted in you two figuring out the ropes together. he’s certainly the most approachable of the other doctors. he has a timid nature and great intelligence, though there’s definitely a hue of slight cockiness that permeates when he’s comfortable around his peers.

mingyu was never exactly fond of him. he didn’t like how wonwoo was constantly attempting to flirt with you, but it wasn’t like you could come clean and expose your relationship. when you entered the west wing, wonwoo seemed to have spotted something. instead of going to the debriefing room, he grabs your wrist and pulls you elsewhere.

you find yourself in the office space, which was just a room with computers and file cabinets and bulletin boards stapled with papers giving reminders about handwashing and wearing face masks. you feel the surprise drop into your stomach when you notice that mingyu is at one of the computers, typing something that he gauges from a file at his elbow.

he doesn’t look at you when you enter the room, but he shifts in his chair.

“i think there’re some painkillers in here somewhere,” wonwoo says, “i remember using them when i worked thirteen hours straight.”

“oh, it’s this here, i think.” you spot the red bottle sitting on a shelf.

wonwoo smiles. “that’s it. here, i’ll get you some water.”

you turn your back to mingyu so you would stop looking at him. after wonwoo filled you a small cone cup of water from the cooler, you set the pill on your tongue, take a sip, and swallow. you hear mingyu’s chair squeak. he gets up and momentarily disappears into the back room, to which you can ever so slightly hear him rummaging through the extra files.

“i think you’ll survive.” wonwoo chuckles.

after gulping down the remainder of the water, you toss the paper cup into the garbage and smile, “i hope so.”

“i wouldn’t wanna work here without you,” wonwoo comments, “so i have to do everything in my power to keep you alive.”

you can’t help but laugh. “that’s what you’re trained for, right?”

wonwoo scratches the nape of his neck, “oh yeah. this massive debt can’t be for nothing, surely. i could at least buy you a glass of cheap champagne if we ever went out for dinner.”

“i love it.” you respond. “cheap champagne and a box of dinosaur nuggets.”

of course, you’re only humouring the situation. as appreciative as you are for wonwoo’s company, he’s nothing more than a friend, even if you know that he often looks to push those boundaries; however, you just weren’t expecting him to push said boundaries tonight. you gulp heavily and feel yourself tense when wonwoo locks eyes with you.

“could be nice,” wonwoo shrugs, “but you – you’re so hardworking, so dedicated and smart. i’d want to spoil you all the time and give you what you deserve, y’know?”

you nearly wheeze. as much as you want to, you can’t deny it – wonwoo had set that situation up perfectly. suddenly, there’s an abrupt sound from the backroom, which resembles a filing cabinet being slammed shut. you haven’t forgotten that mingyu is still in the backroom. when he reappears, he doesn’t even give wonwoo the time of day.

he marches directly up to you and says, “doctor, there’s some records in this file i need to speak to you about.” mingyu is looking you dead in the eye, his expression unamused.

“o-oh,” you stutter, clearly caught off guard, “sure. let’s go into the filing room.”

you hardly seize the opportunity to say goodbye to wonwoo before mingyu jerks you toward the backroom again. there was definitely a puzzled colour to wonwoo’s face, though he seems to accept you’re now busy with another hospital matter and leaves the office. the second you’re inside, mingyu quickly shuts the door and corners you against a tall filing cabinet.

“i’m sick of this,” mingyu grits through his teeth, “i hate that we have to keep things a secret. i hate that wonwoo doesn’t know we’re together.”

“mingyu,” you set your hands on his chest, attempting to relax him, “calm down, okay? you know why we can’t say anything, it’s not—,”

“i just can’t get it out of my head,” the nurse rakes a hand through his thick, black hair, pushing the tresses away from his eyes, frustrated and glassy, “the way he’s always flirting with you, trying to take you out. i bet he wants to fuck you too – i know he does.” you can see how drastically mingyu is spiralling. a few gentle words won’t ground him, he needs something else.

you cup his face and pull him near to you, peering directly into the pent-up aggression that storms in the searing copper of his gaze.

“what do you wanna do?” you ask him directly.

mingyu breathes in. he looks at you for a passing moment, at your eyes, your lips, then drifting down to examine the rest of your body. you feel as though you already know his answer, to which your abdomen expands with something warm and liquid-like when he finally growls:

“i wanna fuck you, right here i don’t care. i need to be inside you.”

you lick your lips. you’ve never had sex in the hospital before, nor has mingyu ever acted so dominant. there’s an unforgiving nature in his eyes, lustful and dark, and you can’t deny the sliver of excitement that runs down your spine. there’s a rapid flicker, and suddenly mingyu is tearing the lab coat off your body and ripping open your navy blue-coloured blouse.

he kisses you roughly, prying into your mouth with his clever tongue, using his fangs to prick at your bottom lip, suckling on the flesh and tasting the sweet remnants of your lip balm. his hands reach for your pants button. as soon as it’s popped, mingyu starts to shove the fabric down your thighs, his hand immediately groping at you through your underwear.

a whimper becomes muffled in your throat. mingyu has never touched you with such rigour and fervent need. he rubs his palm into your core, feeling your thighs squeeze around his wrist while he licks at your mouth. pressed against your lower tummy, you can feel his cock through the blue scrubs. he’s already so hard, and his size engenders you to develop a little dizziness.

“fuck,” mingyu grunts against your swelling, shiny lips, “can you feel that, baby?” he alludes to his cock, which he begins to grind against you. “see how fucking bad i want you?”

your mouth is watering, just like it did earlier in the cafeteria.

“mmhm,” you whine, “s-so big, gyu, gonna feel so good.”

mingyu smirks, and starts kissing a path toward the sweet pressure point just in front of your ear. he twists your underwear aside and glides his two fingers up and down your core, feeling how slick and soft you are. unconsciously, your hips follow his motion, they attempt to move with his fingers and receive as much contact as possible. you know he won’t tease for too long.

“baby is this wet just thinking of my cock inside her?” mingyu whispers into your ear. he rubs slow, deep circles against your sensitive clit, and you throw your head back in an incoherent agreement. “i bet wonwoo wishes he could touch you like this, huh? bet he wishes he could taste you.” mingyu then dips his fingers past your slit, in which you attempt to moan quietly.

he retrieves some of your gloss. your entire face dapples with heat upon seeing mingyu bring his fingers to his mouth, his tongue lapping the digits clean. he maintains eye contact with you, staring at you unabashedly, the satiation glowing upon his face as he watches you squirm and wither. mingyu then kisses you, letting you suckle on his tongue in order to taste yourself.

“dirty girl,” mingyu taunts, “do you like the taste of yourself?”

you feel so hazy, so overwhelmed with arousal as you hum in response.

“that’s why i can’t stand wonwoo,” mingyu growls, pressing himself against you, “because i know he wants to taste you too, pretty baby. and i don’t like sharing.” he kisses you again, messy and wet, swirling his tongue against yours, licking the sweet saliva off your bruised mouth. the skin is sore and stings mildly, but you could never stop yourself from kissing him.

one of his hands reaches under your bra, cupping the round flesh of your breast, his thumb brushing rhythmically over your nipple. as mingyu pulls his mouth away, you can’t help but follow him despite your lips tingling with a latent sensation of numbness. he pushes the bra above your chest before lowering his head, nipping softly across your warm, silk skin.

a sharp intake of air floods your chest when mingyu starts to kiss at your other breast, gently capturing the perked bud between his lips, beginning to suckle. you arch into him in an unbridled movement, your fingers quickly delving into his hair, pulling up at the healthy roots. your entire frame quivers. his stimulation was making you see stars of all shapes and sizes.

however, he can’t endure setting aside his own pleasure for much longer. mingyu abandons your chest and reaches down to the waistband of his scrubs. you swallow thickly. the anticipation welts together inside you. at first, he only strokes the large outline of cock over the material, to which his breathing becomes increasingly heavy. you try to replace his own hand.

“not right now, baby,” mingyu pushes your hand away, “i just want you to watch.”

“please, gyu,” you beg out of sheer desperation, i—,”

“not now.” he repeats himself firmly, cutting you off.

you mewl like a kitten upon seeing a bowl of cream as mingyu slightly pushes down his pants to sit low on his hips. he pulls out his cock, and you feel so unbelievably weak in the knees that you have to grip the handle of a file cabinet to steady yourself. he’s thick, long, and so, so heavy that his cock can’t even strand straight against his abdomen. your heart pounds like a drum.

mingyu bites down on his bottom lip with his fangs. he spits into his hand and proceeds to gingerly wrap his palm around the base of his length, exhaling a shaky breath the second he starts pumping himself. cum begins to bead at the engorged, purplish head. it’s maddening. you’ve never wanted him inside you to such an extent. the saliva waxes in your mouth.

“you like this, baby?” mingyu purrs huskily, his hand travelling up and down. “i can hardly wait to fuck you open. you think you can take all of it, hmm? think you can be a good girl for me?”

quickly, you wipe the bit of drool you almost hadn’t noticed forming at the corner of your mouth. there’s an echoing, intense ache that pounds between your legs. mingyu was always a lot to handle. even when you rode him in the tub, with the help of the steam and the warm, honeyed water, you needed those few minutes to adjust before he could fit himself in entirely.

however, you don’t think you’ve ever been this well-lubricated. you’re so slick that you doubt you’ll need the time you usually require. mingyu grins. he grabs your hips and turns you around, pressing you against the cold metal of a filing cabinet. with his knee, he nudges your weak legs slightly, getting you to spread wider apart. his presence dauntingly fills the space behind you.

restlessly, you kick your pants the rest of the way off.

you can’t help it. as soon as mingyu starts sliding his cock between your folds, you release an awfully loud moan, one which you can imagine him smirking at. he nestles his tip against your clit and rubs slow, lethargic circles. your mouth gapes open and a shudder trembles through your entire body. mingyu’s chest meets your back as he continues the final moments of teasing.

“you like when i do this, baby?” mingyu whispers into your ear, “you’re so sensitive, and i’m not even inside you yet.”

it’s at that moment mingyu starts pressing himself past your slit. the perspiration twinkles against your forehead. he’s only a little way past his tip and you’re already babbling incoherent sentences that don’t seem to have any meaning. both of mingyu’s hands are planted firm to your hips. he pushes in even further, and his forehead falls against your shoulder.

“holy ff-fuck,” he groans, breathing heavily, “baby, y-you’re so fucking tight – nnnrgg – s-shit, you gotta relax, sweetheart. you gotta relax if you wanna fit all of me, remember?”

his thumbs begin to massage circles against your hipbones. you can tell he’s gritting his teeth, attempting to not blow his load right then and there.

inch by inch, mingyu slowly succeeds in stuffing his cock inside you. there are dried trails of drool leaking from your lips, and you know if you open your eyes, you’ll see dots and stars. he wants to move, wants to pull back his hips and split you apart as he fucks you. he kisses your shoulder blade as your entire body trembles. you can feel yourself quickly adjusting to him.

“you almost there, baby?” mingyu asks, kissing your neck, “don’t wanna hurt you.”

the second you confirm with mingyu that you’re okay for him to move, you can visualize the long-awaited grin decorating his face. you suspect he might start slow, just to be certain, but that’s certainly not the case. it became immediately apparent just how badly he needed to fuck you. his thrusts are not soft nor docile. he slams his hips against you, jerking the whole cabinet.

every time his cock fills you up, the sensation consumes you like an otherworldly spell. it’s an array of pleasure and intensity you can’t begin to fathom. mingyu grips the top of the filing cabinet. he fucks into you with a new aggressiveness, your mouth parted in a silent, stretched out scream that can’t even form in your lungs. he abuses your golden spot, over and over.

“fuckfuckfuck,” mingyu growls through his clenched teeth, “you feel so ff-fucking good. your pussy feels s-so good, baby, s-so tt-tight and warm and – ff-fuck – fuck i need to fill you up r-right now. m’gonna make you take my c-cum, sweetheart. m-make you take all of it—,”

you feel his release, it buries deep inside of you, plentiful and thick, warm and full and so smooth, painting your walls in cream. a few seconds later, and your own release shatters the earth around you. mingyu feels the contractions around his cock. it almost stuns him. he presses his hips against you as hard as he possibly can, your walls milking him eagerly.

there’s a wet, sticky sensation that dribbles slowly down your thighs. it almost makes you wish you weren’t on birth control. it would have made for an epic pregnancy story, not that you would want to share it with anyone. you’re both breathing as though you ran an entire relay, the dim light of the backroom only growing darker as it turns to night outside the hospital.

you have no idea how you’re going to clean up, how you’re going to both slip from the filing room looking put together, how you’re going to walk out of here without a limp in your step. mingyu’s hands squeeze your hips, and he starts to pull his softened member out from your core. the moment he does, his cum starts to spill out of you, to which you whine pitifully.

“it’s so much, what am i g-gonna do?”

however, mingyu simply chuckles. “you look so pretty though, baby. you took me so well. are you feeling okay?”

“yeah, i-i just, i don’t think i can really walk right now,” your cheeks are hotly prickling while you remain leaned against the cabinet, “do you think you could run to the washroom and get some paper towels or something?”

“sure,” mingyu responds, evidently a bit proud of himself. he fits his length back into his underwear and pulls up his scrubs, “we probably should’ve locked the door, huh?”

“maybe.” you laugh, feeling a bit sleepy.

mingyu kisses you on your temple and tells you to stay put. then, he slips out the door as inconspicuously as he can, to which you reach out your arm in an attempt to click the lock shut. you can only pray mingyu doesn’t encounter wonwoo in the hallways. knowing him, he might not be able to contain himself from making a revealing comment about your relationship.

although, you feel yourself caring less and less about keeping it a secret.

some immoral part of you almost wants your coworkers to know whose been fucking you this good.

#seventeen smut #mingyu smut #seventeen scenarios #mingyu scenarios #svt fanfic #svt smut #kpop smut

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peachyteabuck · 5 years ago

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the list

summary: you and steve trade lists of things you like in bed

pairing: steve rogers x reader

words: 1,222

trigger warnings: in depth discussion of kinks, sub steve, handjobs, praise kink, riding

notes: oh quarantine. you’ve killed lots of different types of motivation but writing porn isn’t one of them

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Steve Rogers ties to approach things logically. When problems arise in missions, during meetings, on the subway, in a Subway, he goes through a series of yes-no questions. If he were a contestant on America’s Next Top Model, Kelly Cotrone would call him “stiff.” (At least, that’s what you told him when you got piss-drunk at a party celebrating you finally getting a promotion to “head curator” at the museum you’d been working at since college. Steve, luckily, is very understanding, even when his Very Drunk Girlfriend lacks what the kids call “tact.”)

You’re a lot different, more fluid. This makes sense to you, though. You’re not under constant public scrutiny, you’re not the poster child for patriotism. That’s why when it came down for you two to get sexual, you were pleasantly surprised by how open he was. Whenever he hesitated (which was often), it was only because he was planning for anything that could go wrong. Still, at about the six-month mark, you were starting to feel a little…weird.

“Not because he’s not a fantastic guy,” you told your assistant one day. She’s sweet, good at her job, and (most importantly) agreed to sign an NDA when you hired her. “It’s just that I’m always the one suggesting things, you know…I want him to feel comfortable to suggest things to me.”

She sighed as you signed another thick packet of sign-offs for the Smithsonian to borrow one of your pieces. “Have you ever tried trading lists?”

You furrowed your brow. “What the hell does that mean?”

Your assistant handed another stack of paperwork to scan and then sign, speaking as you do so. “Like, you give him a full list of things you like, love, don’t like. And he does the same. That way lots of things are on the table and you can like, make a Venn Diagram of your sexual interests.”

You looked up and raised a single eyebrow. “A Venn Diagram?”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Listen, I’m just trying to put this in a way your smart-brain can understand.”

You roll your eyes as well and scoff slightly louder, but nonetheless mull it over mentally the rest of the workday.

You pose the idea to Steve later that day when you get home, finding him in the kitchen cooking something that smells suspiciously to Heaven.

He’s cutting a red pepper as you speak, expert, clean cuts slowing as he processed what you were saying.

“So, it’s just a list of uh,” he gulps, avoiding eye contact. “A list of all the things we like in bed?”

You nod, taking a sip from your wine glass. “Basically, yeah. What we like, dislike, really like. Just so that we can, like, get on the same page in regards to our sex live.”

Steve shrugs, obviously reluctant and nervous. He’s not a prude once you two are in the bedroom, but any space and he shrivels up like a hand stuck in a bathtub for too long, or a prune. “I mean, sure. But we’ve already had sex before…”

“Yeah, but there’s no reason we can’t have this conversation,” you push back.

Still, he doesn’t meet your gaze.

“It’ll only make things better...” you try.

It doesn’t work.

“No matter the outcome I’ll give you one of those shower blowjobs you like so much…”

Steve freezes at that. It’s only for a moment, but you know right there that you’ve piqued his interest. It’s enough confirmation for you that you feel comfortable dropping the subject until after dinner.

But, the second the plates are cleared away, the handwashing had been done, and the dishwasher was running, you forced him to sit down, slap a pen and notepad in front of him, and tell him to fill out his list.

It took awhile, but eventually (after more wine for you and some dessert for him) (the literal kind, chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream) you switch notebooks.

Steve’s list is long, much longer than you expected. He fidgets in his seat as you read his over, nervous to even peek at yours. You try not to look at him, worried any sort of eye contact would scare him off.

Still, you don’t dare look at his list yet. You were the one to suggest this, so why are you so nervous about this?

It does take awhile but you eventually read his – devouring every word like a man on death row after being handed his last meal.

Once Steve looks up, eyes hooded and pants uncomfortably tight, you crawl into his lap, cradling his face in your hands.

“Do you want me to ride you, baby boy?” you ask lowly, leaving kisses across his jaw. “You want me to ride you until you cum in my pussy?”

Steve whines high in his throat, mouth agape and eyes hooded with lust. “Fuck yes.”

You smile and take his hand before leading him into your bedroom, pushing him onto his back in the middle of your California king.

You both undress hastily, desperate to get him inside of you – so quickly, in fact, that Steve still has half his leg in his pants when you align him with your dripping cunt.

You press one hand into his chest for balance, the other attempting to find purchase on the headboard.

“Oh shit,” you moan, “Oh your cock feels so good.”

Steve moans deep in his chest, eyes screwed shut. That’s when you remember: praise kink.

You swallow before continuing. “Fill me up so good, don’t you?”

Steve’s shallow thrusts up into you get deeper and harder, silently encouraging you to continue.

“I love when you stretch my pussy, love how you feel inside of me – you make me feel so good, baby,” you moan into his ear.

You move to rub at your clit but Steve beats you to it, using your wetness to coat his thumb before rubbing tight circles onto the most sensitive part of you.

You cum on his cock with a shout, the both of you groaning into the deep kiss.

“You feel so fucking good around me,” Steve mumbles, each muscle tense under your hands. “God I’m so close.”

As your high recedes you pull off of him with a small sigh, crawling down his body before taking his leaking cock in your hands.

“F-fuck!” he yells. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, babe, I’m gonna cum!”

You keep stroking him faster, cupping his balls and taking his shaft in your hot mouth.

It only takes a few more bobs of your head for him to cum in your mouth, whole body constricting before everything goes completely lax.

You collapse next to Steve out of breath, the both of you laying on top of the sex-stained blankets.

Neither of you speak for a long while, comfortable silence settling into the space between you to.

You’re near falling asleep when Steve mumbles something, turning onto his side to face you.

You furrow your brow.

“What was that, babe?”

You can hear Steve gulp before he asks again, pressing closer to you before slinging an arm over your waist and repeating his question.

“Can we do that again?” he says, voice small and quiet.

You smile and pull him closer, his face pressed into your clavicle. “Of course, babe. Of course.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers lemon #marvel fanfiction #lukis writes stuff #quarantine is fucking me up bro

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spoonie-living · 5 years ago

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Groceries, Food Safety, and More During The Coronavirus Pandemic

If you’ve been kind of aimlessly disinfecting without knowing what you’re doing or if it’s helping... well, we’ve got some resources for you!

The short answer here? There’s currently little evidence to suggest that your groceries or mail are going to be a significant vector; being near a person with coronavirus is still head and shoulders above in terms of risk.

BUT, if you are high risk and feel the need to cover your bases, becoming familiar with the data we do have about germ persistence will save you some time and trouble and questioning.

And as always, hit up our Coronavirus tag for all the resources we’re gathering for you.

[FYI, this post originally went up about a week ago with a lot less of a critical lens. If you read that, be sure to check this one out too. And if you have follow-up thoughts on this, definitely let us know.]

Food Safety and Coronavirus: A Comprehensive Guide (Serious Eats)

This is a full-text guide that discusses potential disease vectors plus how the coronavirus can actually get into your body (and how it can’t) to the best of our knowledge. Then it applies those to various situations and throws in some food safety to boot. Honestly, it’s very reassuring in a time where everything we touch feels scary.

It’s divided into Q&A sections, and there’s an accompanying video that probably covers the bulk of that info, if videos are easier for you.

It looks like this is well-sourced information from both medical and food safety fields, so we’re getting a good blend of knowledge in this one.

That One Grocery Disinfection Video that’s been going around...

An MD, Jeffrey VanWingen, put out his own take on grocery disinfection, which we originally posted without much analysis. It’s since been taken down and updated, but we’re going to leave that whole channel alone because honestly? This criticism by food microbiologist Don Schaffner left us really questioning VanWingen’s reliability.

We had a little chat with Schaffner (full text below), and he acknowledges that there is a non-zero risk of germs from groceries... but he just really isn’t recommending it as worth it for anyone. Of course, if you’re high risk and have the resources to do it, that’s definitely a choice you could make! [Our household is doing this for now ---Editor Diane]

Don’t Panic!

If you’re stressing, one thing that will help is to remember that when, say, someone sneezes on their hand and then touches something, the virus is going to be “diluted” as it transfers. Not ALL of it is going to get magically zapped over.

Then, as it bangs around in your shopping bag, it’s going to get diluted further as it transfers to the inside of the bag or items next to it. By the time you pick it up to put in the fridge, it’s already been through a LOT and isn’t going to be at its infectious best.

If you need help visualizing, imagine picking up something with a handprint or small splatter of paint on it. The paint isn’t actually going to get that far, and every minute it’s there, it’s drying.

Relevant Science: Aerosol and Surface Stability of SARS-CoV-2 as Compared with SARS-CoV-1 (van Doremalen, et. al.)

Note that this is a letter to the editor and may not have gone through the usual peer and institutional review process; however, An NIH news release confirms most of these numbers (it’s got very different numbers for aerosols).

If you’re going to disinfect, here’s how.

DO know the latest data. At the time of posting (April 6, 2020), the virus lifespan on surfaces seems to be 1 day for paper and 2-3 days for plastic.

DO have a protocol. Where do “dirty” things go? Where do “clean” things go?

DO keep in mind what is “clean” or “dirty” as you work. Include hands and surfaces as well as food and bags.

DON’T wash your fruit and veg with soap. That is not a thing that’s good to do. There aren’t any other food-safe washes proven to kill coronavirus, so just use the ol’ warm water and friction.

DO save yourself the trouble (and disinfectant!) by putting shelf-stable things you don’t need immediately into a “quarantine” with a duration of your choosing. Once, say, 2-3 days have passed and you feel you’re below your risk threshold, have at it!

DON’T FORGET that refrigeration and freezing will extend the lifespan of germs. If you’re putting it straight in, you’ll want to disinfect. If it’s a fruit or vegetable that can’t be disinfected, bear this in mind when you go to use it. Although it’s probably overkill, know that cooking will kill the virus.

DO observe standard food safety guidelines. Don’t quarantine your milk outside the fridge or anything ridiculous like that!

DON’T FORGET about the other things you bring in from outside, mail in particular.

Our full chat with food microbiologist Don Schaffner

Editor Diane checked in with Don on a couple of his points in his thread criticizing that viral video on grocery sterilization, after he kindly offered to discuss further with us, and here’s what we’ve got!

Diane: I wanted to ask if you feel that there's no need to disinfect groceries at all?

Don: That is my opinion. It is also shared by the FDA who state... "Currently there is no evidence of food or food packaging being associated with the transmission of the coronavirus."

Diane: Seems to me that, say, you touch a milk carton with germs and then touch food, there's still a potential vector there.

Don: And there's the key word "potential". Remember that in managing risk, you want to focus on the highest risk first. In this case the highest risk is being around people who are infectious, or perhaps people who are asymptomatic. The next highest risk would be getting the virus on your hands, and then sticking your finger in your nose.

Diane: Would the virus just be too diluted at that point from being passed from a human to a milk carton to a hand to food?

Don: I think it's probably not on the milk carton to begin with, and then the transfer from the milk carton to your hand is relatively small. And again if you are practicing good handwashing and hand sanitation, virus that gets there will likely be removed or inactivated.

Diane: Am I right in thinking that refrigeration and freezing would preserve the virus more than room temp?

Don: Exactly right. The colder it gets the longer the virus is able to last for the slower that it inactivates.

Diane: Just keep in mind I'm writing for high risk folks, so even small risks need to be accounted for.

Don: Understood, but how small does a risk have to be before you choose not to account for it? For example there's a risk of getting in a car accident if you drive a car. There's a risk of slipping and falling in your bathtub if you take a bath. Etc. There's probably even a risk of being exposed to cleaning chemicals from sanitizing your food packaging. There's very clearly a risk of spending too much money on sanitizing wipes that you don't need, Especially when that money could be used for other things. I hope all of that does not come across as being too snarky or preachy, I'm just trying to explain how I try to think about risk.

#spoonie #chronic illness #disability #coronavirus #covid-19

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gerbiloftriumph · 5 years ago

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So you wanna be a king (pt2)

(or at least cosplay one.)

Continuing the cosplay creation saga for anyone interested, here’s how I put together my King Graham cosplay:

Part 2: Jerkin

Disclaimer: I’m totally novice at cosplay and only do it for like one event per year if that, so take what you will or throw it all away.

Also this is not really a step by step tutorial post because this is several years ago and the details are hazy.

If you’re following along, then you should have a cloak and cowl (click for sort-of-instructions-here).

Step one: Pull out those reference screencaps you made in the first part and stare at them. Repeat that you still love this character and that you’re committed to this nonsense. Ready? Let’s go.

The long sleeved purple undershirt I just happened to find at Goodwill. Please try to find something lightweight--this costume is warm.

But you won’t be so lucky to find a jerkin at Goodwill too. You’ll have to make it, or at least modify something.

Still, it’s just an elaborate brown tank top, more or less. You don’t even have to worry about attaching sleeves! Surely this is an eas--wait, what are those lace things? Could you even bend down to pick up inventory items with laces that thick and close together? How can I translate that into something semi-practical I can wear without wanting to eat my adventuring hat?

It’s a great design, but I’m mortal, not digital. If you can determine a simple way to get that lacing to look accurate while still being comfortably wearable, let me, novice cosplayer that I am, know. (maybe if they were just made separately, flat, and sewn on, like a decal thing?)

I had planned on building this out of fake leather/suede-ish material, but then I remembered I wanted to also wear this as my new RenFest costume, and I didn’t want to die in July.

So I went to my local Joann’s and picked up a considerably lighter, thinner, and satisfactorily rich looking brown fabric (I think it was this stuff: https://www.joann.com/kona-cotton-solid-quilt-fabric/1378397.html) for both jerkin and bracers. I’ve lost the original receipt, so I’m not sure how much I bought. Too much, because my storage bin is full of leftovers. I’m sure 3 yards is more than plenty, but measure to be sure.

Tunic time!

This is the point where the “How To Graham” tutorial breaks down and becomes especially fuzzy and experimental, because I kept none of my in-process notes. High five, Gerbil, very helpful indeed. You might just want to glance at this for ideas before doing your own thing.

I laugh in the face of patterns, hahahaha. (bad idea, don’t be me.)

I got my favorite fitted t-shirt (Disney Afternoon ftw), paper, a ruler, and old scrap fabric to maul as practice. I pinned my shirt flat to paper and traced both the front and back separately (folded the sleeves in so my tracework was sleeveless). The front had a deeper neckline but was otherwise nearly identical to its back partner. Once both sides were traced, I added a half inch margin around them, cut them out, and started working on fake jerkins, so I could sculpt the right fit before I got out the nice fabric. I wanted the jerkin to be pretty form fitting as Graham’s is, so I curved the sides in a bit deeper.

I made at least two fake jerkins, fyi.

Since I went pattern-less (hahahaarrgh), tests were crucial, especially regarding the neck hole. The t-shirt is elastic, but my fabric is not. I personally require at least 22″ around the neck to get the thing over my nose, and it’s barely enough clearance. (I’m fairly certain I measured some other shirts with my fabric ruler for a loose size to aim for, then did edits on the junk fabric til I had a size that worked.)

Tests also showed that the back piece needed an additional two and a half inches of fabric on the bottom thanks to how it sits on my shoulders. In the above image, you can see the green fabric is higher, but I wanted the piece to look balanced from the side.

It’s a touch hard to see as it’s usually hidden by the cloak, but I find a balanced jerkin is a happy jerkin.

And here’s that additional fabric without a human in it. (ack don’t look at my uneven stitches)

By now, you should have a belt (in my method it doesn’t matter how it clasps, so pick any belt you please as you’ll be wearing it backward) so you can determine how long the flappy things on the front and back should be. Where your belt sits comfortably is where your side laces will stop and your trim on the flap things will start--the belt hides the transition.

Graham’s belt sits low on his (fantastically defined) hips. I prefer it on my waist so it doesn’t slide up when I’m walking, so my flap things are longer than his. For reference, my flap things...no, wait, there must be a technical term....Google says it’s a peplum. My peplum (??) are 8″ish long, though his look like they’re about half that.

For reference, as a 5′6″ person, from hanger to hem my jerkin’s back piece is approximately 28″ long. The most important things here are how long it is overall, and if the neck hole is big enough to fit over your head: nearly everything else can be altered when wearing it via the lacework I have planned.

Look, at this point, you might want to give up on me and find a real shirt pattern, fitted or not. I understand. I’ll wait. This isn’t actually a step by step tutorial so much as a vague What I Did And It’s Probably Wrong.

Okay, you’ve traced your favorite shirt (or bought a real pattern like a good person). Your tests have shown that your peplum sit at the same height on your leg, and you like the shape and feel of it when you wear your scrap fabric test (I recommend using safety pins to replicate the laces during the early size test phase). You’ve cut out the front and back shirt shaped pieces of brown fabric (with that half inch hem margin all around), and now they’re sitting on your floor, mocking you.

The actual construction part!

The only attachment you’ll give these pieces is via the shoulders. If you’re new to this Making Your Own Clothes thing and your fabric has a nice side and a not nice side, put the nice sides against each other and sew along the not nice side so when you turn it over your hem is inside.

I seam-ripped a collar from a shirt I loved but was too worn to wear otherwise--no math or sewing your own collar from scratch if you swipe it from another shirt. No one will ever see it since your cowl tucks into it, so it doesn’t matter how it looks, though natural colors are better than, say, blue, in case your cowl slips a bit. There are lots of lovely videos about attaching collars: this one seems nice, if you skip ahead to the actual sewing-on part at 4:50. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k31FWDp1s5I

At this point, since you’ve fitted it and trimmed it and done all that you want to it to get the shape you like, you’ll want to hem your shirt by that half inch margin all around so it’s clean and easy for the next part. It only looks vaguely shirt-like now since it’s held together just by the shoulders.

Now, let’s get medieval on it.

Time for lacing!

I used a blond suede leather rope to mimic the lighter color on Graham’s sides (check the beading or leather working section of the craft stores, and make sure it’s thick enough that it won’t snap under light strain, and thin enough it’ll fit through the grommet size you select). I already happened to own an anvil (...why?), so I just needed grommets. Mine appear to be 12mm--I got them in Ancient Copper. You’ll use them in the bracers later, too, so leftovers are a good thing for once. Hobby Lobby or Michaels can hook you up with supplies, but Etsy and eBay have more diverse color choices.

Every inch from where the armpit opening stops to where the trim of the peplums begins (the height of which was established earlier when I decided to how to wear the belt), I made a mark for a grommet, and marked its corresponding partner. For reference, I have 9 holes down each hem, for 18 total holes per side, and a grand total 36 grommets in the tunic. I jammed an awl through the holes marked and applied the grommets as per the packet’s instruction.

Like making a metal and fabric sandwich. With a hammer.

It’s totally therapeutic. I can see why Amaya’s into this stuff.

(It’s not a Looney Toons anvil, by the by: like this, instead.)

Unspool the suede rope and thread it through the grommets. To try and mimic the game, I use a ladder shoelace tie, starting with the grommet pair beneath the arms and running down until I tie a bow in the last pair. I tuck the loose ends into the waistband of the trousers. So, this: https://www.fieggen.com/shoelace/ladderlacing.htm

Finally, I made (because I couldn’t find to buy) my own trim about 1/2″ wide from some scrap light brown suede in the Joann Scrap Bin, and attached it to the peplum (is this truly a better word than flap, vote now).

And that, friend, is a jerkin that would make any real medieval person flinch but should be cool for cosplay. You should try it with your cloak and cowl. If you’re following my method, you get to layer up, lucky you: anchor shirt, long-sleeved-purple-undershirt, jerkin, cloak (snaps through the jerkin’s collar onto the anchor shirt), cowl (to cover your shoulders so you don’t see the cloak tugging at your jerkin collar).

Yeah, it’s warm. Sorry.

Drink some water.

When you’re done sweating in it (eww, I know it’s awful, sorry), handwash it. Strip the rope out of the grommets, use handwashing detergent in a (clean!) bathroom sink, then hang it over a bathtub to dry before relacing it using that ladder shoelace technique and storing it on a hanger. I always have it laced, and pull it on over my head with it laced, too.

And with that, you’ve got about half of your entire cosplay done. Congrats! Take some time to relaaaax. You’re gonna be a king.

(is this helpful at all to anyone? should i keep going?)

(peplum?? really????)

#King's Quest #kings quest #King Graham #cosplay #ack i'm sorry this is probably zero help whatsoever #tutorial

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kat-and-her-cat-blog · 8 years ago

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New Year’s Resolutions

January 2nd, 2017 1:56PM

Joe and I had a lovely New Year’s Eve this year, we spent it with my family for the first time since we started dating. That’s being left as a separate post, because there are a few things I want to write rant about, in regards to that.

I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions, however, I do have a few this year.

I quit my job at the end of September 2015, after having several issues with the management, and after my mental health declined. My New Year’s resolutions for 2016 were pretty simple;

Take some time for myself, and prioritize self-care

Work on my mental heath issues, specifically, learn to handle my anxiety, and get to know what triggers me

Don’t rush into going back to work too soon, being able to buy nice, and fun, things is not worth destroying myself

Get the hell away from Ashley (in July, when my lease ends)

I did very well in 2016 on a couple of those. I kept up with my self-care for quite a while, and I practised it in healthy ways. I would take bubble baths, put myself in a better mood by watching funny movies (usually while doing something somewhat productive), make sure I ate something somewhat healthy, if I was really angry I would do sit-ups, and push-ups to work off the energy, my go-to stress food was spicy, chunky, tomato soup. Lately, I’ve been letting that slide. I’ve been eating increasingly unhealthy foods, and have been letting myself rationalize it. I stopped cooking healthy food in batches, and instead rarely eat at home, opting instead for Joe to buy me fast food. My go-to stress food is potato chips now, where they used to be a twice-monthly treat (once at the beginning of the month, and once when I got my period). Self-care is practically a foreign concept to me now, I spend most of my days in bed, watching TV. As I mentioned, I eat pretty crappy foods, when I do cook at home, the leftovers grow mould in the fridge, instead of being eaten. I rarely do anything physical anymore, because my hips are too bad for me to walk long short distances, and this apartment doesn’t have a bathtub I’m comfortable soaking in. I’ve gotten angrier, and more sore. My depression has increased, and I struggle to find the motivation to do anything at all, let alone be productive. I’ve been out of work for 15 months now, when I thought I’d only need 6 months off, maximum.

As for working on my mental health issues, I can’t really call any of that a fail on my part. I will admit that I didn’t do too much to sort it out on my own, and a lot of that was based in fear. I don’t know how to handle my feelings, because I never really have before, and I’m terrified that I’m going to spiral back down into my anger, cutting, and suicidal thoughts. I’m not confident that I could survive feeling like that again. I did however, see a psychiatrist for a while, but I had a lot of issues with him. I don’t like one-size-fits-all treatment plans, and I especially don’t like being told to come up with my own, if that one isn’t working. I think the final straws for me were when I told him that I couldn’t come up with an entire treatment plan (if I knew how to 100% treat myself, I definitely would not have spent over three years on a waiting list, to get help), he told me to tell him when something wasn’t working, and what I thought might help instead. I told him that refusing to let me talk about my past was unhelpful, because my issues are caused by my past experiences, and I need to work on dealing with the things I went through, because right now, I basically just ignore them. He told me we aren’t living in the past, and that we would only talk about the present. He also got really angry when I did try to talk about the past, even to explain something that was going on now. He spent our entire sessions playing devil’s advocate, and rarely validated my feelings; I understand having to see things from both sides, but please acknowledge that the situation upset/hurt me. I stopped seeing him after the receptionist got snappy when I couldn’t make three “appointments” in a row, the appointments being “someone cancelled, can you come in in an hour?” I told her to take me off the list, because I didn’t want their services anymore after that. I also explained to her that I only stayed on the list because the doctor had bullied me into it, and I was having a panic attack by the end of it, and therefore was incapable of standing my ground. I also explained that giving such short notice to someone who lives in another city, and doesn’t drive, wasn’t a good way to ensure that patients can get help, because the trip alone would take me an hour and a half, not including time spent getting the change for the bus, and getting ready to go out for an extended length of time. Getting a crappy doctor wasn’t my fault, just like the waiting list to get in to see a new doctor, isn’t my fault either. I went to three sessions with the crappy doctor, and after stopping therapy there, I made the appointment with my family doctor to be referred somewhere else. I have tried my best for getting professional help, but because I’m limited by OHIP covered therapy, it’s a pretty long process.

I definitely didn’t rush into going back to work, seeing as how I stopped applying for jobs months ago. I have a lot of valid concerns about going back to work, but I also have an equal number of rationalizations, for very minor concerns as well.

I definitely got the hell away from Ashley. I gave my notice in June, and left at the end of August.

This year, I’m keeping my resolutions pretty simple. Partially because I think the idea of New Year’s resolutions is stupid, so this is all stuff I wanted to do anyway, timed conveniently at the beginning of a new year, and partially because I want to make sure my goals are attainable. Here are my resolutions;

Clean up my side of the apartment, and keep it clean

For the love of everything, stop burying my couch and knick-nacks

Keep up with my laundry

Handwash delicates and smaller clothing items, to cut down on the cost of going to the laundromat

Get myself on a routine

Start with a general routine without times, then progress into adding times in later

i.e; “wake-up, pee, have a smoke, brush teeth...” then when I’m used to that, “wake-up at 9:15, pee, have a smoke, brush teeth by 9:35″ (random times, the actual routine times will depend on what works out for my life’s schedule)

Sort out my sleeping pattern

Set alarms to wake up at the same time every morning

Do not nap during the day, and take a sleeping pill if needed at night (naps may be unavoidable for the first few times I take the sleeping pill though)

Take sleeping pills more often, not every night, but two or three times a week is okay

Start seriously looking into getting a new job

Take Kayla up on her offer to try to get me a job at the grocery store near our apartment (she’s friends with the manager)

Take January, and maybe some of February to get on the routine, but start looking for a job before March

Start tracking my triggers on my own, and taking steps independently to work on my mental health

Don’t push myself too hard, but don’t ignore everything either

Start eating properly again

Take my mason jars and tupper-ware out of storage, they shouldn’t have been put in there in the first place, and not having them in the apartment creates more excuses not to cook

Buy foods that can be cooked and stored in bulk, instead of all these two-serving meals I’ve gotten in the habit of buying

Organize the freezer to accommodate food storing

Start studying for my G1, even if I can’t afford to take the test yet

When I get a job, I will be able to afford it, and then I won’t be rushing at the time of, to learn everything. This way, I can study at a leisurely pace, without stressing myself out

It’s going to be hard at first, but I’m confident that I can do it. There’s a lot of things on that list, but hopefully a lot of them will become habits over time, instead of something that requires constant monitoring, and focus.

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anneedmonds · 6 years ago

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Sunday Tittle Tattle: Not Fit For Purpose

Please examine Exhibit A above, which is a pretty bog-standard sink. Traditional – some might say boring – in style, but infinitely useful for holding water, which is its primary purpose, or for merely providing a temporary receptacle for water should you find yourself opting for a quick handwash rather than your fill-the-basin-to-the-top ablutions.

It’s a simple idea, really, isn’t it, the sink? Two taps that turn, one provides hot water, the other cold (unless it’s a mixer tap, even better) and a large, sloped-bottom container with a hole in it for the water to run out again. A rubber stopper on a chain that can be lifted in and out of the hole to allow you to either hold on to the water or release it and a small extra hole near the top of the basin to get rid of overflow should you go off and make toast and forget that you’re running the water.

A no-brainer, you’d think, this sink design lark. Same with designing a bath. It’s not as though you’re trying to solve an intricate engineering problem – it doesn’t have to land on Mars and send back a soil sample, or revolve at the speed of sound without overheating. It’s just a sink and a bath. Easy.

So why, then, has sanitaryware evolved into something so over-designed, so “style over substance” that it is completely unfit for purpose? Square toilets, taps shaped like pebbles, completely flat sinks – what an earth is the world coming to?

I get that a bathtub is now considered to be a thing of beauty, that some people spend many thousands of pounds on one and place it centrally in their vast bathroom so that it can be worshipped from all angles. But – bloody hell – they’re not comfy, are they? These steep-sided, square-ended troughs and these completely smoothed-out shells, like a half of a white chocolate Easter egg. They’re too big to relax into – it’s impossible to get purchase with your feet on the other side, for a start, and that’s if your feet even reach the opposite end. You just slide all over the shop until your head is under the water and your feet are pointing at the ceiling.

What was wrong with the tubs of old? Pastel-hued, they were easy to clamber into and small enough that you could rest your head on one end and wedge your feet on top of the taps. If you were feeling risqué, you could repeatedly insert your big toe into said tap, but only if you were willing to risk a visit from the fire brigade to release you if it got stuck. That was always the thrill. And the baths of my childhood always had a handy soap dish built in, and moulded indentations for razor or shower gel bottle or rubber duck. None of this minimalist business. A plug on a chain – something extra for your feet to fiddle with – and taps that could be turned on and off with the power of your clenched monkey toes. A metal bar to pull yourself up with, once you were finished and – depending on the style of your tub – little non-slip nodules pre-bobbled into the base of the bath. Safety first!

And sinks. Sinks, as far as I remember, used to be these amazing porcelain things that held water. Inside them. You could fill them up, getting the temperature of the water just right, because there was a hot tap with a red thing on top that let you know it was hot, and a cold tap with a blue thing on top – cold – and you sort of did one and then the other and then the other one again until the water was the right temperature. And then – get this! – the sink was deep enough that the water just stayed in the bottom and you could splash your face or rinse your flannel and nothing spilled over the sides!

Fast-forward to the sinks of today and some of them are barely an inch deep. What the hell can you splash in that? I went to a restaurant and the sink in the loos had no depth whatsoever – it was a pile of shiny pebbles over which the water cascaded. No tap, just this flat spout thing hidden in the wall. Aesthetically pleasing, yes, but when you want to wash your hands in more than a dribble, virtually useless.

Where did this trend for stupid sinks start? Even in my new house, the sink in the main bathroom is ridiculous – completely rectangular, with the sides and bottom all at exact right angles. And there’s a problem with this, which is that if everything is flat, the water doesn’t run out of the plughole. And the joins at the side get filled with scum that you can’t remove.

I’d love to know how and why the first idiotic sink came about. Who identified a need for such a thing? Did some brainless millionaire wander into his local bathroom shop and say,

“Oh hello there old chap! Do you have a completely flat sink?”

“A whatty what?” the shop keeper would have said.

“A completely flat sink! You know, one that won’t hold the water properly and when you turn the tap on everything will splash over the sides!”

The shop keeper no doubt looked really flummoxed. Is this man dangerous? he would have thought. Should I call the police?

“Let me get this straight,” said the shop keeper. “You want a sink that doesn’t work as an actual sink?”

“Yes!” said the millionaire. “And I want it to be as expensive as possible. As useless and as expensive as possible. And please make the plughole really, really bloody shit – instead of it being on a chain, can it work by toggling a stupid metal prong that you’ve hidden somewhere behind the taps? And the taps – oh the taps! I don’t want to be able to work out which way is hot and which way is cold. Keep me guessing!”

“But…but…” The shop keeper stammered, lost for words. “It wouldn’t be fit for purpose, Sir!”

“Never mind that, old chap, a small detail. Righty-ho, must go now – I have to order my induction hob.”

“Induction hob, Sir?”

“Yes,” said the man with too much money. “It’s a cooker from the future that works using magnets but only on a Tuesday between 5-6pm and only if you put the right pans on it.”

“Sounds great, Mr…”

“Fitzroy-Blindenbirger, old chap! Invoice my firm, I’m off to have lunch with the designer of a hoover that doesn’t suck!”

True story.

While I’m on my bathroom rant, why does every shower in the entire world have to have a different method for turning it on and off and controlling the temperature? If I had any sort of power, I’d make it a law that all shower units have to have arrows to show hotter and colder and an instruction panel on the wall next to the knobs. If I added up the number of hours I’ve spent in my life standing at the very edge of shower cubicles, bending myself s-ways to try and avoid the stream of scalding hot/freezing cold water shooting down at the floor then I’d be into weeks, if not months. Why am I forced to de-code the mystery of the shower settings? Why is this task, which should be so simple, made so teeth-clenchingly difficult and frustrating?

Imagine if the washing machine had no numbers printed on the front – you just had to turn the dial and guess which setting your clothes were about to be laundered on? You need your cottons washed at sixty? Hmm – how about forty, easy-care with an extra fifteen minutes spin? Well that’s what you’re getting! We wouldn’t ever put up with that, would we? Our delicate cashmere, scalded permanently and irreversibly on the ninety degree intensive wash. Yet we risk life and limb stepping into a shower stall that presents us with two identical and unmarked dials and three possible water outlets – will we get boiling water sprinkled down onto our scalps? Or will a freezing cold jet of water burst out of the handheld hose that’s loosely tethered on the wall at about genital-height? Will turning the top knob make the water cooler or are you about to lose the first three layers of skin on the soles of your feet?

How thrilling.

I’ve worked myself into a frenzy now so I’m off for a bath. At least I know how to work the taps. Although it has possibly the most ill thought-out feature of any bathtub in existence, which is the pop-up plug. Which idiot ever thought that a pop-up plug, which pops up when you press it (funnily enough), would happily function at the bottom of a bath? When a bath is in use, there’s something constantly pressing on the bottom of the bath, and that’s an arse. If you have a pop-up plug in your tub you will feel my anger – I spend more time pressing it back down than I do cursing the inventor of those tiny foil discs that cover the end of unopened tubes of beauty products and have to be pulled off using a magnifying glass and pair of tweezers. But that’s a whole other story…

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Sunday Tittle Tattle: Not Fit For Purpose was first posted on June 17, 2018 at 7:35 am. ©2018 "A Model Recommends". Use of this feed is for personal non-commercial use only. If you are not reading this article in your feed reader, then the site is guilty of copyright infringement. Please contact me at [email protected] Sunday Tittle Tattle: Not Fit For Purpose published first on https://medium.com/@SkinAlley

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