I barely watched it when I was single, preferring to read or knit or listen to audiobooks or watch movies. I naturally enough missed the memo that Tuesdays on Dancing with the Stars are dedicated to talking about dancing, watching flashbacks of dancing, listening to mediocre bands, etc. People get voted off the island. Commercials happen. But no real dancing, to speak of. Who knew?
Beloved knew, actually, and I wish I had known to ask him the right questions. If I had, I would not have spent an hour fidgeting in my chair, messing up the row count on the second sleeve, forgetting to work increases at the proper point, and growing progressively more snarky because people? There. Was. No. Dancing.
The name of the show is not Yammering with the Stars. Unless they changed it while I was not-listening to the commercials. Except for the Target ones with the LDS actor whose face I recognize from a host of mostly forgettable movies made for Mormons by Mormons.
Pirouetting neatly off my soapbox now.
In other news, I had a review of the observations that happened back in August, when it looked like I might be in line to get half of the new attorney’s docket (he has remained with the secretary who was temporarily assigned to him). Both of my coworkers think I am ready to take on another half-docket. I have a suspicion who I might be getting, and between thee and me and the gatepost, the phrase interesting times comes to mind. As in the Chinese curse.
But until I hear from the powers that be that I am in fact getting another half docket, and whose it will be, I am going to enjoy each day as it comes, knowing that I am keeping my attorney happy and doing a good job of transcribing Attorney B’s work, and hoping that I get half of an attorney whose work style is similar to my own and my present attorney’s. The syntax got a little scrambled there, but I have begun this post at 8:30p.m. on Tuesday, because for the moment I do not want to knit (hark! was that a hiccup in the space-time continuum?) or watch Chopped or listen to another Target commercial.
Do you think Beloved would mind if I went into my studio and only came out for meals and canoodling until after Christmas is over?
I have this poster on the wall in the guest bathroom. Maybe I should take my own advice.
- Five 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!