Irony. One definition says it is â€œsomething humorous based on contradiction,â€ and I would have to agree about the humorous part. Hereâ€™s an example from my lifeâ€¦
The other day I purchased a magazine because it promised to give me a bajillion tips on how to organize my exasperatingly unorganized house. I browsed through the suggestions and out of the bajillion ideas found maybe, maybe, two I will maybe, possibly, if-I-get-around-to-it, use.
After reading the magazine I sighed, imagined that someday Iâ€™ll get my act together, and then gently tossed the periodical on top of a pile of books I have alongside our bed. That one slim volume toppled the stack as though a sixteen pound bowling ball had hit it. The result appeared as a miniature Stonehenge in our bedroomâ€”minus the druids of course. The chaos was enough to send the cats running for cover and filled the air with formally content and lazy dust balls. Thatâ€™s when the irony hit me. My organizational magazine just unorganized my bedroom. Well, okay. A stack of books does not equal organization per se, but for me itâ€™s dang close.
In the same line of thinking, I wonder why my permanent press clothes have tags that suggest using an iron as needed. They are not labeled â€œtemporarily pressed clothes,â€ or clothes that will â€œsorta-kinda pass for pressed if you get them out of the dryer the second the buzzer goes off.â€ Hunh uh. I donâ€™t know about you, but like the snooze alarm on my alarm clock, I let the dryer buzzer go until it gives up in frustration. â€œEverything in the dryer is permanent press, so why rush in?â€ I think, until I unload the Shar Pei-looking heap that was once individual shirts and pants.
Maybe I should have gotten to the dryer faster, but hey! Iâ€™ve got stuff to doâ€¦like read magazines on how to organize my house. Now if I can just remember where I put it after I restacked those scattered booksâ€¦