Went to a ball game Friday night – the local minor league team beat the visiting team by a comfy 4 to nuthin’ score. Then there were fireworks. Which we saw from the parking lot, because getting out of Dodge before the crowds poured out of the stadium was prime goal numero Uno.
I found out at the ball game that gigantic bug-eye sunglasses are the new headband for fashionable young women. Also in style are those weird little dresses with the tube-toppy top part that connects to a knee-length ‘skirt’ thing. Also also in style is wearing Winehousian eyeliner. Who knew? There I was in my cargo shorts and Keds, semi-Oakley sunglasses on my noggin, hardly a smidge of eyeliner, and a big ol’ floppy hat in my lap, feeling rather out of style and yet comforted in the notion that I’m simply too old to track or care about such things.
That being said, I hate everything in my closet. Except for a couple of shirts and several pairs of sneakers, it’s all really old, has been worn a gazillion times, and much of it is showing considerable signs of wear n’ tear. I stand in front of the line of clothes every day, sighing heavily, and wind up picking the same 6 shirts, 2 pairs of pants, and 1 skirt to wear to work every day (though not all at the same time).
Which is why I liked working at home last week. Feeding the baby birds was a GREAT reason to not come to work. There I’d be in my PJs at 3 in the afternoon, plopped on the LR floor with the laptop on the coffee table, a mug of hot coffee in hand, completely comfy and gittin’ things done. But now, the birdies are much more independent, and I ‘can’ come into work to pick up voicemails, ‘interface’ with real live people, and hate what I’m wearing.
That’s not to say that the birds don’t NEED us anymore; quite the opposite. They have learned to come to us when we call them, and even show up on the back porch when they’re hungry. They are adorable. Getting better at flying too, which is nice because we cannot keep Albert The Cat indoors all the dang time. The little birdlies are cheeping wee fluffballs of indignation when they’re hungry; they get these ticked-off looks on their wee faces (shush, they can TOO have expressions) if we’re slow to feed, and once satiated they snuggle down for a nap. It’s just about the cutest thing ever.
The only good thing about coming into work is the chocolate that’s on my desk. Nice dark chocolate stars wrapped in festively colored foil that was a gift from my boss for my birthday. Almost makes the 40-minute commute worthwhile.
No, no it doesn’t. I could be home right now. I could be at home, feedin’ birds and doing laundry (and working! Mustn't forget the working!) IN MY PAJAMAS right now. Chocolate can’t make my present situation better than that.