This post has to be brief, because the winds are picking up and the lights keep dimming in the haus. I was going to show you some of the new yarns that arrived yesterday, but Miss Rob already made off with the entire bag of one of the colors in the Mini Mochi from Crystal Palace. That is beautiful stuff. Sample socks will be a pleasure to knit. Must. Start. Soon.
Monday was a running day. The three boys needed haircuts to keep from looking urchun-ish, and my goal for the day was to be properly fitted for a new bra. I don't need to go into the gory details, but any tale that ends with me storming out of the Von Maur, even as Herr Becher is offering to buy me something fabulous from the perfume counter, isn't easily re-told. Sadly, I'm still sagging, wearing the same old 'Euphoria' scent, and strangely still pissed off at the supposed "professional undergarment fitters" that the department store purports to have on staff. I'm not even sure I can make myself go back, as I'd barely made it past the handbags and out the door before the tears stinging my eyes and closing my throat began to escape. That's something I'm going to have to conquer. The 'crying when I'm angry' thing is too crippling. Even Xanax couldn't help. By the time we got to the phone store I was pulled together (seeing a Volvo S60 in the Kinko's parking lot may have cheered me more than is really healthy, but it was silver. snark), except Helium Chipmunk was working, and I wheeled around so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. Got out in time not to require peeling her face off, and the very next day the Mister took me to a very different Verizon location to get the spanking new phone. If you're local to Greenwood, be advised the 31 south location near Whiteland is far superior to the 135 shop. Unless you're already heavily medicated. Mine hadn't kicked in yet.
I did say I'd be brief. Well, the power seems to be holding for now, and the point to this photoless post is really just to get Gaylen to read the 'Twilight' books. Negotiations were reached at a chapter per post. I've been wearing her down, sending picture texts of The Edward, begging in my whining-type. I'm glad she finally caved. My next move was to begin texting prime snippets of story, 160 characters at a time. Yeah, it was going to get ugly. Uglier than my shrinking boobs in their ill-fitting bra.
Photos of yarn tomorrow, poppets. And maybe a socks-in-progress update. Perhaps I should put them all together for one big scary group photo. That will prolly require 'Helium Chippy' amounts of Xanax. We'll see... C