Well, yesterday, at the Ravelry knitting group, we were talking about how fast everything seems. I mentioned that I don't write on the computer because the results turn out too glib. I use fountain pens.
Turns out I'm not the only one. It might as well have been a convention of pen nuts. (Not peanuts. I'm allergic.) Three of us pulled pens out of our bags. Two others had forgotten theirs, or changed bags. One woman uses and collects them, and has the vintage pens refurbished. If I'm counting correctly, 3/4 of this group (or this incarnation of the group) shares my fetish.
Really, what are the chances?
I may be an old-fashioned girl in some ways, but in others - I'm a disaster. Homemaking, for example, every bit of it. I don't/can't/don't want to cook unless the food can be boiled our microwaved. (Pity my poor husband, who can not understand how I can consider Rice Chex in plain yogurt with Craisins "dinner.") (Spare some of your pity: I don't make him eat it.) Cleaning? Bleah. Etc.
If I'm a disaster now, imagine how bad I'd have been in, say, 1930?
As a 1930s wife, I am
I never claimed to be domesticated.