It's the first day in a shiny new year. It would also have been my parents' 71st wedding anniversary. And I am celebrating -- how?
The mate to the Prodigal Sock is done, all but the weaving-in of the ends. I will probably wear them to the movie this afternoon, which I'll be attending with friends from the singles program. To be followed by dinner and maybe a food fight, depending upon my general attitude and how cathartic the movie turns out to be.
My son-in-law fixed my brakes.
I rented "John Tucker Must Die" and watched it with LittleBit. I am thinking of all the good women out there who get played by guys who haven't outgrown that mindset, and I'm wondering if enough of us got together, if we could humiliate them en masse. Probably not; probably just better to forgive and forget. I don't think the national debt would cover sufficient ink to tattoo "player" on all those foreheads.
[LittleBit hoots "Dude, that would be AWESOME! I have a couple of names you could put on that list."] Yeah, me too.
But first, there is a hank of "Anna" that is begging to be wound up and turned into a variation on the Socks of Doom. Yes, I am taking my knitting to the movie. And I am poking *anyone* who talks during it.
She who knits, regains her wits...
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!