It isn't any warmer, it might even be chillier, but at least the sun's out. No sun all day yesterday made me blue and dreary, I only managed to make the icebox cake custard and assemble the dessert, then I went back into my cave. I took a good hard look at the lawn and decided that I didn't really need to mow, so I didn't. I can't avoid laundry today, though, since I grabbed the second last pair of undies in the drawer this morning. I refuse to wear the creeping-up-from-behind boy leg ones that never get off the bottom of the stack unless it's an absolute emergency. I don't know how women wear thongs. Uncomfortable things.
We fell prey to an info-email, the one that hijacked my email address last week and sent that Dr. Oz link to you all. Durwood's brother, BE, emailed me back to say that he already takes the stuff and has lost weight, so we conferred and ordered a crapload. It came yesterday and this morning I had it all on the table and we were filling our weekly pill holders and it occurred to me that we have an old people's table--one covered with pill bottles and pill holders. Eesh.
The longer I wear these French nails the less I like them. I will say that I've gotten compliments a couple times in the week since I got them but I just don't like the look. Of course, I'm too cheap to go and have the gel coat taken off and polish put on so I'll spend the next 2 weeks complaining about them. It's the white tips, they're too brash, too "look-at-me" that I don't like, not that red isn't an in-your-eye color, it is, it's just that I like red nails and I don't like clear and white ones. Plus we left them too long. I take part of the blame for that, she asks me if they're short enough and I wasn't paying attention, and she can't remember exactly everything about every customer. And they're dirty underneath all the time. I use a nailbrush and try to keep them not looking like dirty talons but it's a losing fight. I don't notice the undersides as much when they're red.
July 28--North Switzerland, Madonna with Eight Saints. "Oh, they're saints all right," Mary said to her sister on the phone, "they're certified and canonized. Every one of them is more righteous than the next but I don't think they have a lot of compassion for the rest of us." At times on this tour of the Midwest with the Vatican's Eight Saints Mary wished she had an easy job like librarian or lion tamer. The eight of them had been saintly at one time, she was sure of it, but now that they'd achieved sainthood they each had an assistant traveling with them and at every stop they assembled little entourages from their local admirers because, Got knows, they needed their recommended daily dose of adoration, and they didn't get it from her. Mary was the tour leader. She needed a drink today. Some days she needed several.
Well, that was a delightful tangent and fun to write. Okay, I'm outta here. Time to read the funnies and watch CBS Sunday Morning. Enjoy your day, and if you don't, sit right down and tell me all about it.