About two years after my divorce was final, I got really ticked at a guy I liked because he didn’t have the sense to ask me out. [I know, right? The list of “senseless men” has only gotten longer in subsequent years.] And I went to the discount music store and bought a CD and put one of the songs on our answering machine at home. Not that he was calling or would ever hear it. Needless to say, it embarrassed the daylights out of the girls. Their friends would call to talk to them and get the machine, and then they would ask, “Why does your mom have that song on your answering machine?”
The consensus in the peanut gallery was that I was crazy. [No, if I were crazy, I would have put Patsy Cline on my answering machine. I was just royally peeved.]
I offer this song for anyone who feels like the red-headed orphan you-know-what stepchild on Valentine’s Day. Or for anyone like me who just plain loves the song.
It’s OK to sing along. Because you know *I* will be.
And this is in memory of a certain ex-boyfriend who shall be nameless and is running for office.
But for something equally fun and a whole lot more civil, behold Firestarter x 2.
And heart stuffies for LittleBit to give to a couple of friends. I was delegated to do the machine stitching, which as of drafting this post had not happened yet. And the stuffing, and naturally I discovered when I woke at dark-thirty that I had no idea where the stuffing was, so off to Wally World for cotton balls. I did know where a size 1 DP was. So handy for getting a small fiddly object plumpified.
And to end on a positive note:
- 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!