The Most Important is the Ending in Anything You Tell

Well let's see, what to say first?

The cats are pretty much back to normal. After a bath for Frost and then lots of catnip poured on and around him and Eli, so they smelled not only good but the same, Eli is back to his same old alfa-I'll-push-you-around-once-in-a-while-just-to-remind-you-I'm-boss self. Frost, however; is still recovering, a little PTSD if you please.

I ordered some really terrific looking shoes that wrap around the top of your foot for perfect comfort with good tread,  hoping, as usual, to be able to find a shoe that doesn't hurt me too badly.

After waiting 3 weeks, they came today. In XL. I mean, seriously. I've been kidded my whole adult life at what little feet I have. Don't they know nuthin'?

So I've e-mailed them to complain.

The Northern Invasion (the good one) begins tomorrow. Since Yankee Cousin is bringing (her) Husband and (her) Brother, they wanted to rent a cabin. Yankee Cousin told them specifically she wanted to rent a cabin close to my house. They said okay! Told her that's what they'd done. She asked for specific directions, but they couldn't give those to her until a week before arrival date. (why, I don't know, do you?) When they gave them, she's NOT even close to my house. She asked them to swap. And guess what they said? They couldn't change accommodations so close to arrival date. Do you see anything wrong with this? So I  e-mailed them a very nice threatening-to-do-a-review-request, asking them to change her cabin. We'll see.

But the most important subject of this blog is you. I really did the previous blog about not winning at the Georgia Author of the Year Awards to make you laugh.

But instead I got a wonderful outpouring of love from so many of you that assured me I was really the best.

Sniff.

You said you were proud of me.

Well, I'm proud of ya'll, too.

I'm a winner, for sure.

Confessions of a Slob

I admit it; I'm a slob.

Before I retired, no one knew I was a slob. Husband barely knew it. He thought I just dressed that way on house cleaning Saturdays or really bad sick baby days.

But in my heart, I was always dressed like that.

After I retired, I stopped wearing make-up to the grocery store (gasp).

Then I fell, and my whole appearance went to pot.

At first it was because I was in so much agony.

Then it was because I had surgery.

Then it was because I was recuperating from surgery.

Then, I like, you know, never recuperated from pajamas.

Today I am dressed thusly: granny drawers (I know, I know, T.M.I.), sweat pants that are too short (they were a good brand, but drew up length wise. If they'd drawn up like any self-respecting sweat pants in a sideways fashion, I could have given them to Daughter), a man's undershirt, a t-shirt and a sweat shirt. No mention of a certain undergarmet to go under the shirts, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. Plus socks and house shoes that I've taken to wearing everywhere, unless it rains.

I will say in my defense that the shoes look like  soft leather moccasins. Sort of.

When I do go to town, or church on Wednesday nights, I wear appropriate clothing, except for the shoes, of course.

I wear make-up and dress clothes on Sunday morning.

I'll wear them if anyone wants to give me an award, have a dinner in my honor, or any other such wonderful thing.

But you really have to mean it.