Steppin out

I really should get up and cook some dinner. It’s almost 5:30, I’ve been reading for a good hour, and any respectable mother would at this point, get up and prepare a Sunday night meal. I probably should do some ironing too, but you don’t see me having any of that either do you? I think I’ve just been having one of those post weekend, lazy Sunday afternoons, that involve nothing more than the necessary minimum.

Perhaps I’m pouting. I’m not sure, but I think my gaggle of readers have abandoned me for some younger more energetic and racy blogs. They say it eventually happens to the best of us. Our stories age and wrinkle with time…, and the topics just don’t have the same perk they once had. I find myself getting jealous over the fact that the gags and gaggettes don’t comment like they once did. I can’t remember the last time a reader sent me flowers…although, there was that oral-b brush up from ‘The Impulsive Buy’ blog.

Ok, come to think of it? I’ve never gotten flowers from ANY of you, but consider the seed planted from this post forward.

More than likely I’m just bushed after a busy yesterday, what with all the cooking and preparations for the bridal shower,… and then of course the party itself. When the shower was over I had to somehow muster the strength to transform my grumpy step sister self into Cinderella by dawning a long formal dress in order to attend a Shriner’s Ball. I needed to get happy and sweet but I felt more like a grumpy pumpkin.

Isn’t it amazing how a beautiful dress can make you feel when you normally have an otherwise home centered social life? It’s nice to get all gussied up once in a while and have some place fancy to go. You feel like a million bucks, you walk a little taller, and you step a bit more elegant. (Only in my case I’m actually just stepping a bit more carefully as I never quite mastered the art of walking in three inch stilettos as gracefully as I should have).

I tend to hug the walls as I walk into the room, so as to have something to grab if the ankle starts to give causing me to trip like a goose. I figure I’ll either catch myself on the wall, or knock myself out … one of the two. You can’t be embarrassed if you’re unconscious so it’s a win win solution either way. I’m sure my finishing school teacher still has nightmares of me to this day…god bless her patient soul.

As in traditional Cinderella fashion, I was home by midnight. Unfortunately the house still needed cleaning, the laundry still needing doing, and I’ve no little mice to do it for me out of pitty.

There’s always tomorrow.