We saw Rogue One.

Swistle: “I wish they had cut out about thirty minutes of the ‘[*zooms her hands like fighter planes*] PEW PEW-PEW PEW-PEW-PEW PEW PEW PEW-PEW PEW-PEW PEW PEW-PEW-PEW PEW PEW-PEW!!!!!’ and used that time to explain who people were and what was going on.”

Paul: “I wish they had cut out the thirty minutes where people were talking or having feelings or looking meaningfully at each other, and filled it with more PEW-PEW-PEW-PEW-PEW.”

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I don’t want to nitpick about an otherwise perfectly acceptable person with many indisputably fine qualities, but see my tagline because yes I DO want to and here I go: Paul puts things into temporarily-empty spaces. Like for example, I can still get worked up about him “organizing the pantry” a couple of years ago. He went striding down there as if he thought only his manly super-intelligence could solve this little domestic issue, and into every space where we were currently low on flour or tomato sauce or cereal or whatever, he crammed items from other shelves. He made our pantry into Tetris: every item was packed beautifully for maximum conservation of space—and minimum ability to remove that item or put away any further groceries.

And when I said, “Wait, but I can’t put the groceries away because there’s no room for them, and we can’t get to the cereal or crackers because they’re behind all the canned stuff,” he was pissed and huffy. Pissed and huffy is my least-favorite spousal state after “So Sick He Will Probably Die of this Head Cold that Is Definitely Flu Because Listen to How Much He Is Groaning and Sighing; Can I Feel His Forehead and See if He Has a Fever?”—and also Pissed and Huffy is MY specialty and he shouldn’t be copying me. …I am not sure firstborns should marry each other.

Bright side: the pantry DID get organized, because I had to move every single thing back again.

Not every space-filling episode is as dramatic and disastrous as The Pantry Incident. Sometimes it is a matter of him helpfully moving a stack of bowls over to an empty place in the cupboard—a place where, when the dishwasher is unloaded, it will turn out the dessert plates normally go: that place was not just sitting empty because we were too silly to use it for something. Sometimes it is putting a plate into the dishwasher so that it blocks water to the inside of a bowl. Sometimes it is taking a pad of paper on which I’ve written an important reminder, and adding it to the mail stack on the counter where I won’t see it. Sometimes it is taking a bunch of things out of the upstairs freezer and moving them to the downstairs freezer—right into the space where I will then not be able to put away that week’s groceries, which include replacements for the things I thought we were out of because they were not in the upstairs freezer. But always, ALWAYS there is that lethal combination of “HE’LL take care of this issue!” + MAKING THINGS WAY WAY WORSE AND CREATING A LOT OF WORK + pissed and huffy that “making things worse and creating a lot of work” is not praised and appreciated. Stick to what you do WELL, Paul. LEARN FROM EXPERIENCE, Paul. It has been OVER TWENTY YEARS OF SWISTLE BEING QUITE VOCAL ABOUT YOU NOT REARRANGING HER THINGS, Paul.

Comments suggesting I should be grateful that he WANTS to assume I don’t know what I’m doing and fix it for me will be answered with the delivery of Paul to your house to rearrange your pantry and stand there proudly expecting you to be grateful for it. I will infect him with a head cold first, so that afterward he will lie on your couch groaning and shivering until you ask him if he’s okay.

Yesterday I mentioned I was heading out to do some swimsuit shopping. Backing up a little, I should say I FIRST tried to shop online, but gave up for two, no three reasons:

1. HOLY HELL, $60-100 PER PIECE of a two-piece swimsuit are they LITERALLY AND ACTUALLY ON ACTUAL LITERAL DRUGS??

2. The aforementioned problem of trying to figure out what it would look like on me, when it is displayed on non-plus-sized models.

3. Just in general, I need to try it on I think. I know I COULD order eight suits and return seven, but I hate doing that. I like to find something I like and then order the exact same thing again and again for eternity.

I am not sure why I am reluctant to tell you that my excursion yesterday was to…Wallmartt. No, I do know why: it’s because I hate that store and I keep telling you so. It’s depressing. And their low-price thing is a fake: they do it to start with, and then they raise the prices after you are already convinced they’re lower, and for some reason that is a very hard psychological mold to break out of. And they have their own product sizes, so sometimes you think “Oh, I’m paying $1.97 when the other grocery store has it for $2.50!” but actually the Wallmartt one is 10 ounces and the other grocery store’s is 14 ounces. OR WHATEVER. And things are always out of stock! And things ring up wrong all the time, always in their favor, so you have to WATCH THEM LIKE A HAWK, UG I don’t even want to TALK about it, it’s so frustrating!! …Ahem. My point is that I am on record as having practical, philosophical, and emotional objections to Wallmartt, but fortunately I am also on record as occasionally shopping there anyway, so there is no need to call anyone out.

And the fact is, that is where I went. Whatever Wallmartt’s other (MYRIAD) (SIGNIFICANT) flaws, they acknowledge that plus-size people exist and they sell clothes in those sizes in their actual physical stores so you can try them on, and that is in their favor. And once, long ago in despair when I HAD to go swimming and it was LONG PAST the time stores sell swimwear (i.e., summer had begun), I found two good swimsuits plus a swim skirt on their clearance rack for like $3-7 each, so that has lingered in my mind.

Yesterday I bought:

1. This ruffled tankini top in Superhero Underoos blue, which was my long-distance-third choice after pink and aqua but the only one they had in stock in plus sizes. Also, it has virtually no support in the chestal region, which feels weird—like being in a car with no seatbelt on. But it was $11.84 and Will Do.

(image from Walmart.com)

2. This tankini, which was in Wendy’s post and is one of the reasons I went to Wallmartt. Cute/pretty/fun/colorful pattern; medium support in the chestal region.

(image from Walmart.com)

3. This blue skirt (again, not my top color choice but the only one they had) to go with both. The waist is TOO LOW and I have to keep tugging it up. I would really like the waist to go all the way up to my ribs, and I don’t see why I can’t have that for less than SEVENTY-FIVE DOLLARS LANDS’ END I AM LOOKING IN YOUR DIRECTION. But here we are, spending $11.

(image from Walmart.com)

So! I came home with two swimming suits I have to keep tugging at. But! I like them OKAY. And they will DO. That is the important thing: they WILL do the job. I can put them on and I can go into the water.

This frees me up for the second step, which is to see if I can do better. I can get a bit…panicky and overwhelmed, with things like this. But if I HAVE something that I CAN wear, that reduces the panic and stress considerably by taking the element of desperation out of it. So then, after reading all the comments that basically said, “Listen, you get what you pay for,” and feeling more relaxed because I already had my bird-in-the-hand cheap swimsuits, I took my 30%-off Lands’ End code and bought a LONG-TORSO plus-size top and skirted swim leggings:

(image from Landsend.com)

I was very excited to find a swim top that was tall AND plus: that is almost unheard of. (I did not need tall for the leggings: my torso borrowed the height from my legs.)

I am going to try to make myself try them on RIGHT AWAY when they arrive, rather than leaving the box unopened for months while I get up my nerve. Because if those swim leggings fit, I am going to be an extremely happy girl. I am of the opinion that swimsuits are NOT ENOUGH CLOTHING TO WEAR IN PUBLIC, and although capri leggings, a mini-mini skirt, and a tank top would ALSO be too little clothing for me to want to wear in public, it is a PRETTY NICE STEP UP, coverage-wise!

Today I am going swimsuit-shopping. I know your thoughts will be with me at this very difficult time.

This has been looming ever since last summer, when I put on my swimming suit right before a swimming commitment and thought, “Oh geez, this no longer works, maybe a t-shirt over it or something?” Later I took it off gratefully and with no small difficulty, thinking “I have until next summer to find another suit.” And lo, that time loometh. Swimsuit emails have been arriving for a couple of months.

But I did not feel fortified for this terrible task until I read a post on plus-size swimsuits by my blog-friend Wendy. I will not usually link you to slideshow posts, but this one is Full-On Worth It. I was just about collapsing with frustration yesterday trying to shop for a plus-size suit when half the models are not even CLOSE to plus-size. Like, how on earth can I tell how this suit would fit on ME?:

(image from roamans.com)

And this is on a site specifically for plus sizes. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable to want to see it on someone with upper-arm fat. And thighs that not only touch but snuggle up like the cozy besties they are. IT IS A SITE FOR PLUS-SIZE CLOTHING. THEY DON’T EVEN SELL NON-PLUS SIZES. How many clothespins did they have to use to fit the suit on someone so much smaller than the minimum size they sell??

FIRST: I have been trying to get a phone case off of my phone for three days. Intermittently, I mean. Not without ceasing. I got a new phone, and so I needed a new case, and then Paul put the new case on without taking off the sticker on the back of the phone, so then the sticker showed through. But then I couldn’t get the case off. Paul tried and ended up damaging it, leaving a small sharp point on the top. So I searched online and found this video by I think a child, with an idea of how to do it, and it totally worked. (I showed it to Paul, who suggested I might want to start attending the Technology for Seniors class at the library. HE COULDN’T GET THE CASE OFF EITHER.) I have an android phone and that may be why I had to slide the card down to the bottom corner rather than up to the top corner, but it totally popped the case right off. (Idea starts at 0:50.)

Second, speaking of phones, my mom needs suggestions for phone games. She likes a very particular type of game: the kind where you play the same game over and over with varying degrees of success, NOT the kind where you endlessly level up. So for example, her top favorite game is Solitaire: you play the same game over and over, and sometimes you win and sometimes you lose and sometimes it’s easy and sometimes it’s hard, but you don’t then level up, you just start over.

It isn’t that it can’t level up at all. Back at Christmastime, she liked that ornament-smashing game on the Jacquie Lawson Advent Calendar: as you complete each level it goes to the next—but it only goes to level five or something, and it’s always the same five levels. Maybe sometimes you get through all five and then you win; maybe other times you only get to level two or three or four before you lose; but it is always the SAME levels, again and again.

She likes Candy Crush pretty well, but doesn’t like that it endlessly levels up with new challenging features. She’d be happier if Candy Crush was a five-level game where you always start at level one and see if you can get to level five without losing a life. (Sometimes Candy Crush has special mini-games like that—but they’re temporary, and they change.)

If you are thinking, “Why doesn’t she just play the first five levels of a game over and over?,” that is something she has thought of, but it lacks the satisfying quality of a game that is supposed to be played that way: she has to keep track herself of the levels, and it doesn’t tell her she’s won if she makes it to the fifth level, and she knows she is SUPPOSED to keep going. It’s all wrong.

So she and I are wondering if you can suggest more games of the sort she likes.

Let’s say you are having people over for an Easter Egg Hunt. Let’s say that while the children hunt for eggs, you are serving buckets of mixed candy (one bucket for chocolate items, one for fruity items) to the adults. What boxed wine would you pair with that?

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I would like to buy some lawn chairs.

1. They should be able to hold a nice big person, without that nice big person feeling as if the chair might collapse under them. (“Something collapsing under me, actually or apparently because of my weight” is one of my Top Anxieties.) (It happened to me once with someone’s picturesque tree swing. That memory plays in my mind as if from an observer’s point of view, which is how you know it’s one of the worst ones.)

2. They should fold up or stack for storage.

3. It would be nice if they had cup holders.

4. I don’t like the kind with leg rests, but I might like to have one of that kind for anyone who DOES like that kind.

5. Bonus points for assorted pretty colors, but you should suggest it even if it only comes in boring, limited colors.

The doctor said she would order an endoscopy, and that the endoscopy people would call me to schedule it. If I didn’t hear from them by Friday, I should call her back.

I didn’t hear from them by Friday. I called her back Monday. (…Okay, I called her back a week after that, because I didn’t want to call and I was still hoping to hear from the endoscopy people without having to do this.) I was on hold long enough to fill the dishwasher, finish William’s driver’s ed paperwork, empty the dish-drying rack, go downstairs for a new roll of paper towels and box of matches, and put away a Target bag of stuff I never got around to putting away yesterday.

The receptionist came on the line. She said oh, yes, sometimes the scheduler doesn’t get around to calling, but I could call the scheduler myself to get the process going more quickly. She gave me the number.

I called the number. I was on hold for long enough to get out my insurance card, tidy up the bathroom, and start dealing with the Mail Pile on the counter. The person who picked up the line had no idea what I was talking about. No idea at all. She could not really believe I was calling her, or why. She said they don’t have access to any of that information. She said they can only do what the doctor instructs them to do. She asked incredulously did I even know which doctor was doing the endoscopy? I said I did not. I repeated that my doctor’s office had told me to call this number. I added that my doctor had forwarded the information; was there any way to access it from there? No, this was impossible. They don’t even SCHEDULE endoscopies from this number, they only REGISTER them. …Okay, I have no idea what you are talking about, I guess I am the only one in the history of time who has been given this number by a doctor, I guess alllllll the other patients know exactly who in the GIGANTIC COMPLICATED MEDICAL SYSTEM to call about what, thank you for less than nothing and also for the unpleasant attitude as if I’m the idiot here rather than someone who is JUST FOLLOWING INSTRUCTIONS. (Actual Swistle words: “Okay! Well, thank you anyway, I guess I’ll give them a call back! Bye!”)

I had a little frustrated almost-weep. Watched Upside Down & Inside Out for distraction and a mental re-set. Went to the phone. Called my doctor. Was on hold long enough to play two rounds of Candy Crush. Their on-hold information recording has deteriorated considerably, and now sounds like “Here at bzztt bz pssshhhh YOUR HEALTH Is the bzt bzt bsssssstttss in your hands! Come to our pss psss pssssssssss BZT for convenient online ZZT bssssttsss….dot com!” Talked to someone else this time, so had to re-explain the situation.

She looked in my file and found that the information/order had been sent to a particular GI doctor at the end of March. She said they absolutely should have called me by now. She suggested I contact that office directly. She gave me the number. I called that office. A receptionist picked up with a tone of voice that communicates what a burden it is to have to deal with patients: “Good morning this is Nancy can you hold please there are two calls ahead of yours.” I held. After a minute, the call disconnected. I called back. “Good morning this is Nancy can you hold please I am dealing with a patient.”

I held. I was on hold long enough to adjust the time on the one-minute-off microwave clock, even though that meant consulting the manual. Thank heavens, though, it wasn’t Nancy who finally got back to me, it was friendly-sounding Lauren. “Hi! Have you been helped?” I said not yet, and she said, as if she would really be happy to do it, “Okay! How can I help you?”

I told her that my doctor had told me to call, and why. She was puzzled, but game to figure out what was going on. She looked in the computer and found me, and confirmed that they had all the information and the referral. But… “We have a scheduler who does all the scheduling. So I’ll leave her a message and she’ll call you, okay?”

I spent more than half an hour on the phone with FIVE different people to be almost exactly where I was before: waiting for a scheduler to call me. It was frustrating, I spent a lot of time on hold, and I didn’t encounter a high percentage of people who could do anything except give me another number. I had one conversation with someone who seemed actually hostile, and two brief encounters with someone who hates her job. I am left mentally arguing with EVERYONE. Except Lauren. Lauren was really nice.

Do you know who I love? Hardly anyone. But in that small number I include plumbers. Also the people who come to change a flat tire. I have encountered both of those people this week, and I love them both. I have added them to my Christmas Card list. Whenever I am blue, I will picture that guy kneeling in front of my flat tire, asking the tire earnestly if it is seriously going to fight him every step of the goddam way. Or that other guy kneeling in front of the broken sump pump in his careful, taking-no-chances, 2-inches-above-the-jeans underpants. Guys Kneeling and Fixing Things is a coffee table book I would buy.

I have seen lists of things all adults should be able to do (debone a chicken! sew a shirt! deliver a baby! start a fire without matches! mix a perfect martini! caulk a tub! iron pleats! drive a stick shift! change a tire! hotwire a car!), and I hard-disagree with all of them, starting with the presumptuous tone and ending with the listed items. By all means, learn things you WANT to know how to do, or personally NEED to know how to do, but there is no reason to run out and acquire the particular skills the clickbait author came up with, making it an even 10, 20, or 30 so they could turn it into a snappy title. (I know it should be “bone a chicken,” not “debone a chicken.” But really at this point in the English language it should be changed to debone. So I’ve changed it.) (I also know that “who” in the first sentence of the post should be “whom.” But it always sounds wrong, and also snooty. I’m changing that too.)

Some of the things on the lists are outdated: it takes awhile for older generations to stop insisting that the younger generations learn things they no longer need to know. (I for one will have a hard time giving up on cursive writing.) I was glad my dad made me learn to drive a stick-shift back when a lot of people had stick-shift cars, but now it is really rare to encounter a stick-shift and really common to encounter people who think everyone should know how to drive one Just In Case, because THEIR dads made them learn how to drive one Just In Case. But we are now at least one generation past that time; it’s like saying everyone should know how to use a pencil to fix an unwound cassette tape. (I can imagine similar lists in previous generations. Absolutely EVERYONE should be able to: recite one performance poem from memory; speak conversational French; fashion a bandage from an old petticoat; darn a sock; pull an abscessed tooth; deliver a breech calf; disassemble and clean a simple pocket watch; make a good plain meal on the cook’s night out; gentle a horse; testify effectively in a witchcraft trial.) The ONLY TIME I have ever been called upon unexpectedly to use my stick-shift skills was when the pharmacist wanted to treat the pharmacy staff to coffee and doughnuts, but he couldn’t leave the pharmacy and needed someone to drive his car so he wouldn’t have to mess with reimbursing mileage. I was the only one there who could drive a stick-shift, so I did the coffee/doughnut run. SAVING LIVES. I think people should learn to drive a stick-shift if their car is a stick-shift, or if they WANT to learn to drive a stick-shift, or if they have reason to believe they have more than the usual likelihood of being called upon to drive a stick-shift.

For other, more currently-useful items on the list, I think we don’t ALL need to know how as long as SOME of us do. Let’s SPECIALIZE and then SHARE OUR SKILLS FOR CASH OR BARTER. I do not want to take the bones out of the chicken. It would take forever and I would hate it and it would be messy. Let’s give that job to an expert wearing a company smock they won’t have to personally launder. They can do fifty chickens in the time it would take me to do one, and then we can all take home our packets of boneless chicken and spend our time doing happier things we’re better at.

Or I certainly COULD learn to change a tire or change the oil, but I’d prefer not to. I’d like the person who changes the tire to be someone who has done it THOUSANDS OF TIMES and so will get it RIGHT. I don’t want to do it a few times to learn it, and then wait a few years, and then suddenly have to remember how to do it on a dark scary road in the rain, when I’d rather be inside the car with the doors locked waiting for the guy to arrive and swear at the tire for me. And it’s more sensible for the person who changes the oil to be someone who has all the equipment (including the coverall that only improves in appearance with a few sexy oil stains) and can handle the whole task quickly, neatly, and efficiently. And then they can dispose of the old oil easily, because they have a whole system for that. In a TRUE OIL-CHANGING/TIRE-CHANGING EMERGENCY, like in a dystopian future where roadside assistance no longer exists, I will read the manual. Or I will find someone who already knows how to do it, and I will barter. I have many jars of peanut butter. Or I can name a baby. Or I can listen attentively and responsively to a really boring story.