Assault by meme.

Now that I'm an official old fart, I get to yell at clouds and stuff, right?

This week, Facebook served up a meme that's definitely worthy of a scream or three. Here it is: 

I did not need to be reminded of this, but here we are.

Yes, we were forced to wear these in the '70s, in both junior high and high school. It was basically a onesie, with snaps instead of buttons. It was made from cotton broadcloth that didn't stretch. The legs of the shorts were much longer than these -- mid-thigh, maybe. I've learned from comments on the Facebook posts I've seen that they came in multiple colors; ours were light blue. I had no quarrel with the color; I like blue. But the fit was not flattering to anyone.

When I saw this picture, repressed memories came flooding back, and not just about the uniform. I hated gym. I was bad at everything -- except badminton. Badminton, I was good at. But everything else required physical strength or endurance, and I had neither one. 

And then there was the locker room. Having to change before gym class was bad enough -- I'd do it fast, with my back to everyone. But after class? We had to shower. In a big communal shower room with no dividers between. And I was a big girl in a class full of skinny girls, which only made it worse. I'd hold my wholly inadequate towel in front of me, douse myself fast, and hurry back out to the lockers -- right past the teacher standing at the shower room entrance, checking off names to make sure we went in and, I suppose, came out damp. 

Hygiene and cleanliness were far more important in the '70s than privacy, at least to the old farts in the school administration. Or maybe the showers were a state education requirement, I don't know. All I know is I hated the whole thing. And I'm grateful that I will never have to wear one of these outfits again.

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On to a more cheerful subject: I decorated the Yule tree yesterday. So far, Tigs hasn't messed with it. He didn't mess with the tree I had last year, either, so maybe we'll all survive. 

Lynne Cantwell 2022

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These moments of cloud-yelling blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Stay safe!

Time to rock, baby.

Guys! I am so excited to tell you about this thing I discovered earlier today.

Here at hearth/myth, we remember the '70s like they were yesterday: the hairstyles, the bell-bottom hip-hugger jeans, the music, the fads.

Like the Pet Rock. It was genius! It came in its own cardboard carrier on a bed of straw, together with a 32-page manual of care and training instructions.

And it did absolutely nothing. That's right! People in the '70s actually paid four bucks for a rock. Makes those of us buying designer bottled water sound almost brilliant, when you think about it.

I mean, it was a perfect pet. It didn't eat or drink. It never ran up outrageous vet bills. It was never disobedient. And it never pretended to be anything other than what it was. Authenticity was a big deal in the '70s, let me tell you.

Anyway, pet rocks weren't around for very long. Some parents -- including mine -- refused to buy them for their kids, saying any old rock would do. So I never had a pet rock.

But today I discovered that pet rocks are back! And they've been updated! ThinkGeek -- which, if you've never seen this retailer's website, you owe it to yourself as a geek to check it out -- is now selling Bluetooth Pet Rocks. They come with their own charger and they pair with your phone or tablet. ThinkGeek says they last eight hours (standard use) on a single charge. And they're ethically sourced! You can't beat that with a stick!

I mean, I guess you could. But I'd advise against it. You might put somebody's eye out. Or break a window.

Now I know what you're thinking: "Oh haha, Lynne. I've seen the calendar. I know what day it is. You're a little late with your April Fool's joke."

And I say to you, unbeliever: click that link above. And then get ready to pony up $19.99. I haven't bought mine yet, but I fully intend to -- as soon as I'm sure the item is still for sale after April Fool's Day is over.

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This moment of Pet Rock blogginess -- connected via Bluetooth, naturally -- has been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.