Breathing More Freely
There's really not too much to report. The weekend was busy. Lots of wining and dining and shopping. I bought a dress for the ball -- it's red and strapless with kind of a black tulle overlay and I have to say that it kind of makes me want to stick a long-stemmed red rose in my mouth and bust out in a tango.
I'm about sixty pages into Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, and I loved how it started off in York because I could really picture the atmosphere and action. I really need to carve out more time to read or I'm never going to even make a dent.
I got my pink Tweezerman tweezers, and I like them, but I don't really love them yet. I find that they're almost too sharp, and half the time, instead of plucking, they just cut the hair mid-pluck so it's still in there. And of my myriad pet peeves about tweezers, that's probably the major one. Perhaps I just got overzealous and need more practice.
Clearly I've got nothing of consequence to say. I'm sad that my pretty blue flowers (no idea what they're called) and my lantanas are dead, dead, dead, and I don't know if I'm supposed to cut them back or let them just sit in my front yard like brown skeletons until spring.
Last night in a fit of moroseness, I asked someone, "Do you hate me?" and this person sputtered back, "You're the only person I like!" I take that as high praise.
In my ball gown, I'm going to need to make use of some boob tape, but I have no idea where to buy it or how to use it. These are the mysteries of my life.
It is astounding how the prospect of a lunch date not tomorrow but the day after can make me feel like I am living inside the song "Sugar Magnolia." I mean -- sunshine, daydream. Sunshine, daydream.
About this time in ...
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