Caught up on my Bloglines. Had a nice, leisurely workout, including adequate time on the machines; miraculously, I could get out of bed this morning under my own steam. Got my nails done.
Got a haircut, even though it’s only been a few weeks since the last one. It’s so hot here that my hair refuses to stay spiked. It just kinda lies on top of my head like an old hound on the front porch. Once in awhile it howls at me.
Had dinner with Brother Sushi. We were both in the mood for some excellent chicken fried steak, so he drove us up to the Stockyards, and we found a parking lot one block from Star Cafe, so all we had to do was cross the street midway and walk down the alley.
Sometimes you want a salad that is more ranch than rabbit food, and that’s what I got last night. A nice bowl of greens, a few cherry tomatoes, and a whole lot of ranch dressing. Ate. Every. Bite. Which is why more than half of my chicken fried steak and nearly half of my mashed potatoes are in the fridge, waiting for lunch tomorrow or dinner tonight, along with the untouched slice of pecan pie that will become breakfast shortly.
After he brought me home and I’d put the food away, I went out again into that heat. [It was 108°F/42°C when I left NailDude’s to go get my hair cut; it was still 96°F/36°C at 9:16p.m. Texas is not for wimps!] Picked up two half-gallons of milk: one for the house, and one to take to work for my breakfasts next week. And more juice, and two more cheap swimsuits to alternate until I can save up for a good one. I am starting to see those telltale spandex crumbs along the seams of the swimsuit I bought a couple of months ago.
Facebook is pretty good as an informal research tool. I asked if more expensive suits stand up better to chlorine, and the consensus, so far, is that they do. $32 per suit x6 suits per year at the current cannibalization rate = $192, as opposed to $80 to $120 from a catalogue. Sigh... a good swimsuit ought to cost no more than $25, and it ought to last for five years, and it should also make me look like I did before I had five children.
Oh, and automatically shave my legs every time I pull it on. That’s not too much to ask, is it?
I did something very brave last night. Two brave things, actually; the first was to put the six cartons of American yogurt back on the shelf and replace them with an experimental six-pack of Greek yogurt that cost a dollar more but has no corn syrup in it. I’ve learned to like freshly-grated nutmeg. I’ve adapted to natural peanut butter. I even eat broccoli! If successful, this will be the next healthy adaptation in my diet.
Emboldened by that, the other brave thing was my response to a question of the new guy’s in a recent email. (As you might suspect from what we know of his character thus far, it was nothing illegal or immoral, though given his abilities in the kitchen, it had the potential to be quite fattening, LOL.) The point is, he asked my opinion on something. And after some pondering, I gave it to him.
I was reared in the 50’s and 60’s. I am, by nature or nurture, a pleaser. “No, thank you” does not come easily to my lips, even at the ice cream store when I ask for a single dip and they ask if I would like a double. Yes, I would like a double. No, I am not going to order one.
Toward the end of my marriage, my opinions literally went unheard (talk radio, 24/7, at high volume because he was growing deaf), so I ceased to offer them. I was afraid that if I told him what I really thought, he would stop loving me. When I could keep silent no longer, and I did open up, that’s pretty much what happened. [Sometimes I hate being right.]
So, it is scary for me to be asked my opinion by a guy I just might possibly like, because there is the distinct possibility that my opinion might be ignored, or worse: I might say something he found ridiculous or offensive, and zoom! what is that black speck in the distance?
Brother Abacus ghosted on me, and a bunch of other women, several years ago. NintendoMan, when asked, at least had the integrity to tell me why it was never going to work, and I had to agree. (He gets full points for honesty, that one.) The new guy seems to have a lot of what I’ve been looking for, and thus far no red flags. The termites are usually beginning to crawl out about now, and I’ve kept an eye peeled for sawdust, but he seems to be the real thing, even if it’s way too early to know if he is The One.
I think I will take my piece of pie and pour myself a glass of milk and go listen to Brother Eyring for awhile. And maybe I will stop twitching.
- 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!