I've been wondering if at my ripe old age something would start to change after living here long enough. I knew better than to expect to gain a Scottish accent, I've known enough people that have lived here for longer than we plan to and have not picked anything up. Despite that, the internal conversations in my head have a strong Scottish flavor. I do find myself phrasing questions in a slightly different manner, and there is an odd lilt I hear coming out on occasion. We have both picked up the some local phrases, Stan moreso than I. He's very good at cheers, where I still say thank you. Just get on with it has become a favorite for both of us. And I find myself ending phone calls with bye now.
I never, ever, would have expected what happened the other night, though. I have mentioned the combo washer/dryer. I am still mystified when the thing runs water into itself at the beginning of the drying cycle. And then 20 minutes in spins so hard (harder than during the wash cycle) that it knocks dishes into the sink and I'm certain every unit in the building violently shakes for 30 seconds or so. And if things get too dry, and this is a big if, they look as though they were crushed. The horrifying incident I am referring to occurred when I took the sheets and pillowcases out of the dryer. The dreaded too dry. The pillowcases were crinkled worse than anything I've ever pulled out of a tightly packed suitcase. The sheets were an equal mess, only bigger. I sat downstairs staring at my bedding, knowing what was coming, but trying to reason my way out of it. Here it comes . . . .
I ironed my pillowcases. This? This is the bit of Scottishness I have absorbed? I very quickly put the sheets on the bed and covered them with the duvet before this could get completely out of control. I shudder to think what might be in store for me next time I wash the bedding.