I did not stay awake all night Friday - not because Ron Burgundy was gone, not because I was scared to be alone (I love solitude), but because there was an ANIMAL in my chimney (do gas fireplaces have chimneys that animals can get down?) and it was scratching and squawking and Snickers sat howling in front of the fireplace all night like it was her job and like that clawless feline could really do something about it if she caught whatever it was and oh my, what a horrible sentence this ended up being. Joe Mama does not rest well under these circumstances. The scary thing is that it's quiet in there now. So next week I will probably post that my house does not smell like a dead animal. Or if I turn on the fireplace, that it does not smell like a roasted bird with smoking tail feathers.
I did not show my bum to everyone who was behind me and to my right in the gym on Saturday. My well-traveled exercise pants seriously need to be converted to a dust rag. Perhaps my house could benefit as well. But that thread-bare spot on my right cheek? Nope, not mine.
Closely related to above, I did not go to work last week looking (and thus feeling) frumped out every single day. Every sense of sass, spunk, or style left my being. Think: 80's cotton turtlenecks (I
had have one of every color in the Crayola box), 90's crew neck sweaters, a once-trendy denim jacket abandoned in a closet from one of my sons' long-ago girlfriends (even Gap stuff gets old), hair straggly & badly in need of a cut & hilight, and one day I even wore navy socks with black pants. Hey, it's dark when I leave in the morning. Those obligatory "green" light bulbs don't shed much light for tired, trifocaled eyes. Goal for this week is not a makeover of minor proportions.
Tea today: Young hyson