No, not me, y’all; I have not fallen off the chastity wagon. But Amazon tells me that Diana Krall has a new CD, and she sings this as a duet with her husband, Elvis Costello. I love Dr. John’s rendition on the Sleepless in Seattle soundtrack. [And I sing a plausible version myself, but what’s the point? There’s nobody to sing harmony.]
But for all you married types, this might be just the ticket. Amazon says that the CD is mostly bossa nova, which for me is one of the charms of Texas de Brazil, all that lovely music murmuring in the background.
I got my manicure after work last night, huzzah! And I got a bushel of compliments on Autumn Asters when I wore it to work. Everybody else was shivering and complaining, and I just grinned and said, “I don’t know what all of you are talking about. I’m warm as toast here.”
I also got the most crucial part of my laundry washed but not dried. I bought a cheapie rolling rack, because both change machines at the laundromat were out of change, and if I hung everything up on the shower rod, it would fall apocalyptically in the middle of the night, because it’s just mean like that.
So, today I am lunching out. With a guy. One who is neither Brother Sushi nor Trainman, but whom I hope will become as good a friend. He says I get the privilege of watching him eat at least half a dozen raw oysters and assures me that this place serves more than just oysters; good thing, because I don’t think I could eat one to save my life. I like the flavor of cooked oysters but not the texture. I would have to eat them after somebody else had minced them into smithereens. It has been roughly 40 years since the last time I ate oysters, and I no longer have to eat what my parents tell me, so there too now. Plus, I have dysphagia [intermittent difficulty in swallowing], and I choked on fondue once, so the less gaggy the food the better.
I ran out of hangers before I ran out of things to hang up, so I shoved the laundry bag into the fridge in the hope that its contents will not sour before I can hang them up tonight. I just was not in the mood to run to Wally World at a quarter to midnight to get more hangers.
It worked, mostly. It would have worked better if this were still July and the room I laughingly call my studio were 85°F. I had to use my blowdryer to finish the job this morning.
And I am out the door...
- 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!