Cheap Dates are Never Worth It!

That darling girl in the blue checked gingham flouncy dress turned out to be a drunken sot at the Christmas Party! My boss was NOT pleased!

So You Think You Can Dance...

Try Tyrolean Line Dancing with a guy in a poofy skirted pirate's vest!

The thing about me and dancing is that I am left handed. And Left Footed. And all dance under creation starts and ends with the right foot. This puts me at such a disadvantage for things like "step out on the right foot! Step Back!" because I will start with the left foot, hesitate, keel over, try to switch to my right foot while the left foot is in mid-air, turn pink with embarrassment, barely manage to cover my tracks in time to get that right foot out there the way it is supposed to be, only to look around and discover that the entire rest of the dance class has now graduated to waltzing, rhumba, and figure skating in sequined costumes.

No one will EVER say to me, "Oh Captain Butler you do dance divinely!" or anything like it.

But the thing is, I keep trying. I recently signed on for 10 weeks of belly dancing lessons. It's a required course in safely navigating a Mid-Life Renaissance 101 Survival and Reinvention Program, and I may as well get it over with now. And the class itself is cheap! What they don't tell you is that you have to have those little cymbal thingees for your fingers and a very expensive scarf with fake coins hanging off it so you jingle-jangle and make a happy sound. Oh, those cymbal thingees: right-right left. right-right left. That puts me into the category of 'beginning belly dancers who have no rhythm, no rhythm at all.' Because I try to do it left, left, right...left, left, right.

Plus I don't know about you folks but I don't often spend a solid hour on my own legs, hopping around and shaking my shimmy and throwing my right/left hip into dysplasia by imagining I am slamming a car door with a bag full of groceries in my hands. WHAM! (I could and should perfect this skill. Next time I am on a crowded conveyance and need to make a little elbow room, WHAM. I just get TIRED. I want to sit down and close my eyes. Everyone else in there is just bellying away and having so much fun doing it! They dance in perfect step with each other and their finger cymbals all sound alike. I paid good money to learn that a left handed belly dancer does not have a chance.

Where are we going?

WHERE ARE WE GOING???

And why are we in this handbasket?

My morning breakfast china

Is there no Latin word for Tea?  Upon my soul, if I had known that I would have let the vulgar stuff alone.  ~Hilaire Belloc

Hot Cross Buns!

I wish for buns of steel, but then I bake sticky buns, instead!

The Wagon Elvis Wanted...

The wagon Elvis wanted but couldn't buy.

REALLY Big Hats R Us

"Why mind the fashion? Wear a big hat, and be comfortable!" ~Jo March (Little Women)

I always think of hats as pretentious. But I remember when a lady never went to church or lunch or even a baby shower without a hat and proper gloves. I guess now we wear sunglasses and carry a fabu purse.

Cousin Walter, before the invention of Polar Fleece.

I kid you not! This is an actual photo of my Dad's Cousin Walter, wearing an honest-to-goodness Mohair Knitted Suit. The mind boggles. The skin itches...

We still dress haute monde!

Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable

that we have to alter it every six months.

~Oscar Wilde

Today I saw this silly woman, one of those purple hatters, no doubt, absolutely swathed in miles of drapey shawls and boas. Fuzzy, purple, dyed-feather boas. Had this been 1935 I would have thought she was a very tired tart. Instead, I thought she was desperately seeking personal definition in a society that sees women over 25 and 125# as invisible. Seen as Invisible.

I won't wear boas, I won't wear red and purple together. I get noticed with my personality, which is Pink and comes of Good Breeding.

I do not know why we were so glum that day.....

 because, indeed, were were dressed to the nines in our finest garments!

C'est Moi!