The Chair of Shame

Don't get me wrong, working from home is wonderful.

There are plenty of advantages. I don't have to drive 30 miles to the office, make nice with coworkers, or pack a lunch. And, perhaps best of all, I can work in my pajama bottoms.

The downside is that occasionally, I need to go to the office for one reason or another. This coming Monday is one of those times. 

"I'd better try on my dress pants," I said to Mr. Ginley. "I've put on a little weight, so I need to make sure something fits."

Add one more downside to working from home. 

All of which means we'll be heading to Kohl's to find a pair of work pants that won't make me look like a stuffed sausage. And because I'm dragging Mr. with me, he will need to prepare for his stint in The Chair of Shame.

I recently alluded to this when talking to my brother-in-law, John, a few weeks ago. 

"What is The Chair of Shame?" he wanted to know.

It's the chair outside the women's dressing room, where Mr. waits patiently, holding my purse, while I try on several items. I model them for him, and he provides a thumbs up/thumbs down to each article of clothing.

He's pretty good at this, commenting things like, "That works" or "Makes your butt look big" or simply "Nope, not gonna happen."

Truly, he does not mind doing this, but he does draw disapproving looks from other shoppers, who eye the old guy in the chair holding a purse as being henpecked, having cognitive issues, or being a pervert. 

Since it's been quite some time since I shopped for nice clothes, I suggested Mr. Ginley prepare for our shopping trip. As part of the warm-up, he:

• Assumed the Position: We recreated the scene in our dining room (see photo).
• Chose the Look: Arranged his facial expression to elicit sympathy rather than fear/disgust from other shoppers.
• Practiced Quipping: Chose some snappy comebacks to raised eyebrows such as, "I'm waiting for my wife" or "Good day to you, madam," or simply calling out, "How are you doing in there, honey?"

Things are going quite well, and we discovered that, like riding a bike, sitting in The Chair of Shame is a talent that comes right back to you.

No need to tell him I'm shopping for underwear today, too. 

P.S. Alas, no chair of shame. Only a wall of mortification:

 

Playing With Words

When Wordle hit the puzzle scene several years ago, I swore I was never going to engage. 

Kees Swart, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Well, so much for that declaration.

While I won't go so far as to post my results on Facebook (because they're pretty dismal, honestly), I now attempt to solve it every morning. I don't know why. There's not a lot of strategy involved. Mostly, you're trying to guess what word is in someone's head. The word is selected from a list of about 2,500 common 5-letter words.

Here's how it works. You begin with five empty boxes, one for each letter. You get six tries to guess the word. So you type in the first five letters. (There's some strategy on this, like typing a word with three vowels – vowels are key.) If you have the right letter in the correct spot, it will turn green. If you have a letter that's in the word but you've slotted it in the wrong place, it will turn yellow. If the letter ain't there at all, the space turns black. Below the puzzle, it shows an alphabetic listing of all the letters so you can see your progress.

Most of the time, I can guess correctly before I run out tries. There's a screen that shows your statistics. I've only guessed the word right on the first try one time. Mostly, it takes me four or five tries. The stats don't give you a failure rate, which is nice, I guess. It keeps me coming back.

Just to note, I didn't just start Wordle one day out of the blue. It was included in a handy-dandy app the New York Times has for all their puzzles. A sort of one-stop-shopping for word nerds with nine interactive games:

1. I got hooked on Spelling Bee, where you make words out of a set of seven letters.
2. Connections is a diabolical word association game where you have to figure out what's going on the game-maker's mind. (I'm really bad at it). 
3. There's the crossword (which I won't do in the app, it's a bit much)
4. I do partake of the mini crossword. 
5. Strands is a word search of sorts. 
6. Letter Boxed connects letters to make words. 
7. Sudoku is there, but it's not my thing. 
8. Tiles describes itself as a game where you "match motifs." I think it was created by someone on acid.

I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time playing these silly games. It's really cutting into my Facebook time.

Which, come to think of it, may not be a bad thing, after all.