My youngest daughter’s graduation from high school was last month. While I was sidetracked with extended family, my daughter planned the graduation ceremony, refreshments and gifts for the guests, and the concert to follow. I was so proud of her efforts that I decided to help out by ironing her graduation robe. I used a lower temperature just to be safe. The first sleeve looked perfect, so I placed the iron down on the other sleeve — and when I pulled, the fabric came with it. Not just a little — a huge CHUNK! I screamed and danced a little angry jig while my family looked on in amusement.
My daughter kept telling me it was okay, she didn’t have to wear the robe, she could find something else. I rushed to the phone to call around and see if any local churches had black choir robes they’d loan out. While I was making calls, my dear husband came to the rescue.
Call it a Jeff Foxworthy Graduation. Dear Husband took musicians duct tape and repaired the gaping wound in daughter’s graduation gown. Yes, I did say duct tape. Dear Husband looks at me and says, “We may be rednecks, but we are high class rednecks — this duct tape costs $20 per roll!” The musicians duct tape is a dark charcoal color, that blends in well with the graduation gown. To the untrained eye, it is hardly noticeable. Yee haw!
So I considered that my flub for the day. That was it. I was done. The rest of the day would be smooth sailing.
We went to the church youth building to decorate. Dear Husband brought some flowers and other necessities, friends brought refreshments and more decorations, and we had a good morning and afternoon of work. I noticed that the young man who was also in the graduation was trying to work on singeing the edge of a sign that was to be placed on his display board. His mother called with instructions for him to go pick up a few more items, so he left the sign, along with the lighter, on a table. I just wanted to help….
I took it outside so I wouldn’t set off the smoke detectors. (Previous experience) I began to carefully singe the edges of the sign to give it an aged look. Suddenly a gust of wind caused the flames to engulf the sign. I began furiously attempting to puff out the flames, but it kept burnin’, burnin’, burnin’ — so I rushed inside and turned on the sink water full blast. About half the sign was gone — the other half blurred.
I made a new sign for him, didn’t attempt to singe the edges.
See, the sad thing is, I’m a bit of a pyromaniac at heart. I’ve often joked that I treat dear husband like a god: providing him with burnt offerings each evening. My kids gave me the sign for my kitchen that reads: Dinner is ready when the smoke alarm goes off.
I intentionally did not cook for daughter’s graduation. I tried to avoid burning anything, I really did.
Some days it just don’t pay to chew through the restraints….