We used tea towels for gloves until we got proper ones and were always breaking our mum's ornaments. She'd come home and find us all sat in our boxer shorts, out of breath and our skin red raw. She hated it.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
My brother Shane and I used to spar with each other in the kitchen. We didn't have gloves, so we wrapped tea towels around our hands.
I still do have the little lunch bag that my mother made out of a towel and embroidered with my name on it for when I went to kindergarten.
I've always enjoyed doing dishes. Maybe it was the fashionable yellow gloves that I loved so much. It's weird, I know, but I find cleaning cathartic.
Gardening gloves are for sissies. I always have dirt under my nails.
I use bath gloves in the shower every day. People often comment on my skin and I just tell them that I use bath gloves.
For a few years, skeins of yarn piled up in baskets around the house. There weren't enough humans in my mother's orbit to wear all the scarves and sweaters and hats she knitted. And then, as suddenly as she started, she lost interest, leaving needles still entwined in half-finished fragments.
I'm a disorganized mess. My purse is gross: I once found a shoulder pad, string cheese, and a Christmas ornament in it!
My mother 'gave teas' the way other mothers breathed. Her own mother 'gave teas.' All of their friends 'gave teas,' each involving butter cookies extruded from a metal press and pastel bonbons ordered from See's.
I use those medical gloves that fit very tightly and are disposable for all chopping - peppers, onions, garlic, etc. Very Lady Macbeth, I think.
My mother gave me boxing gloves; I wanted boxing gloves. I liked to box. So I still have them. They're still in my bookcase, very old, tattered, and they were cherished.