If there were three words that put the fear of God into me as it a child it was – Answer me child! Coming from my mother they were sure to have me clam up and do the opposite. I still have the memories of those ‘conversations’ to this day – whatever I said after those words would never be what she wanted to hear.
The Golfer tells me I speak to myself, asking myself all sorts of questions, which I sort of acknowledge and jokingly tell him ‘at least I’ll have the answer when I remember it’ It appears I also talk to inanimate objects like the tv and the microwave…..that last one I’ll agree on. Doesn’t everybody say….’ I know you’re finished, just wait a minute ‘ when they hear the ding?
Now because of this rotten virus we’ve been ‘together’ as in close company for the past eight weeks or so and I didn’t hear him mention this at all during that time – but last Friday when he’s away at golf I heard myself exclaim ‘well I never knew that’. The library sent emails about a home delivery courier service they were trialling and how well it was being received. First I’d heard of it!
I distinctly heard the words ‘Come on, what do you think you’re playing at’ when the corner of the bottom fitted sheet wouldn’t pull off so it could go in the wash. And then there was the conversation with a button……
See the little button on the floor. That’s where I found it. I was so surprised I even took a photo. See how small it is…no wonder I didn’t see it earlier. There was no answer when I asked ‘what are you doing down there, I bet you’ve been hiding there all the time’ 
You see when I discovered I had a bit of time up my sleeve for closing the donation box I knew I had time to finish off one last tiny baby cardigan. Three buttons on…but where’s the fourth? Nowhere to be seen so a quick rummage through the button bag for another and all done. The box is now sealed ready to go….there’ll be no need for buttons for a while…..I’m eyeing up round neck 2yr boys jumpers/sweaters as a change from all those little things.😊
So later on after my morning coffee I’m thinking it might be a good idea to give the button bag a bit of a sort out. It’s like Aladdin’s cave…..a big bag filled with little bags of buttons. All shapes and sizes and colours. I should show you sometime….well, maybe not. There’s a limit to what readers will accept – or is there? I wonder what your answers would be 😊
Still Waters 
My mother had an old toffee tin full of buttons. When we were sick she got it out to play with. I have no idea how she had accumulated such a wonderful array, but I loved playing with them.
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I would love to see your button stash!
I know I talk to myself, and to inanimate objects… does it matter that I don’t listen to myself? I don’t know.
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I talk to myself, to the cat, to the birds, to inanimate objects. Some of them reply.
Not in childhood but when I became an adult the phrase I HATED hearing from my mother was ‘I thought you ought to know…’ Nothing good ever followed that phrase.
I have a button jar too. Lots and lots of buttons and I can rarely find the one I want. Himself wears his shirts until they are long past death, and objects to me throwing them out. I found that if I cut off the buttons if he is faced with the alternative of sewing them back or discarding the shirt, the shirts finally go to their home as dustrags…
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You could give each button a name.
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I have a zip lock bag full of buttons, the spares that I cut off shirts but I never need them. I don’t talk to myself often as I find my boring. I do at times tell myself out loud that I am an idiot.
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Another sweet sweater! I only have the cat to talk to, and he’s quite boring.
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Guilty! I talk to needles, the oven, groceries when I go shopping and naughty buttons! I’d like to see your button bag’s contents. Mine is in an old chocolate tin (oh why are all things nowadays packed in either cardboard or plastic, not an honest box to be had?) and it is not very exciting. I bet yours is, at least those tiny pink buttons very pretty, luckily you had more than four.
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Extreme guilt here on chatting to myself, imaginary friends, and objects…apparently the source is my childhood where I was basically living in a “lock down situation” – child alone with parents who were basically the age of grandparents, on a town property surrounded by a very high fence, and no one much to play with in the street…err what street, Mother didn’t like me playing with the kids much.
I had quite a few other periods in my life, where I was completely out of place – temporary domiciled here and there. Then a marriage that…well, let’s not go there.
And now I’m home alone, there isn’t anyone telling me I can’t chat to the banana cake cooling on the bench, the ding of the microwave, or the computer screen not loading. But there are times, when I want a real person to remind me that the “washer finished over an hour ago…why haven’t you got the clothes drying on the rotary line outdoors” OR like today “didn’t you notice it was time for lunch, it’s now 1.30pm?”
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I certainly let the microwave and washing machine know how I feel about their incessant beeping! My button jar has a Winnie the Pooh head and once held lollies, it was a stocking filler for one of the kids at Christmas. Buttons go in it but they rarely get to leave.
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Getting a matching button is always a tricky issue. Your eyes are really sharp.
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My gran had a button tin, so did my mum, I have a button jar and hardly ever have to buy buttons. I loved sorting through buttons when I was little so if course I’d love to see yours.
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