Outside, while it isn’t particularly cold, it is windy and gray, and a storm is threatening to form. In the house, my ear/throat still hurt, especially when I swallow, and I think I still have a low-grade fever. It’s the kind of day that makes you want to put on a ratty old bathrobe and frumpy slippers and spend a lot of time getting to know your tea kettle.
My tea kettle is currently in the dishwasher, and anyway, I’m a morning coffee sort of person. My DeLonghi machine decided that it did not wish to be thrown under a bus, which was yesterday’s threat, and actually brewed coffee today, which is lucky for this because I was one click away from ordering a Capresso ST600, and may, still.
After I finish this post, my very lofty plans for the day include actually drinking said coffee, and perhaps making some oatmeal to go with it, and then retreating to either the bedroom or my office to write about the latest news in car insurance. (Note to self: it’s also time to pay the premium.)
I’m in a good mood, but I feel kind of blechy (see the bit about my ear) so putting on actual clothes instead of my fetching blue, green and white pajamas and the t-shirt that goes with them may not happen.
But that’s okay, because it’s Thursday, and loungewear is completely appropriate for Thursdays.
Trust me on this.
The problem with allowing your dogs to sleep in the bed with you, especially if they’re terrier-esque, is that they tend to dig in the covers. The first time, it’s cute. The second time, less cute, but a bit annoying. After that? You tend to imagine that you can hear their little claws picking apart the sheets and comforter thread by thread.
It is, therefore, no surprise that I look at comforter sets and sheets sets in every store we enter that carries such things, though I rarely buy them. Sheets and quilts are surprisingly expensive, and I’m picky. 100% cotton is a given, but high thread counts, pretty colors, nice patterns. Our bedroom is really my second (third?) office, and I need the space to reflect that.
I tend to do for nautical stripes, blues and crisp reds, more than sweet floral things (to Fuzzy’s delight) but lately I’ve been straying on the pink side, if for no other reason than I wouldn’t have to worry about my hair staining the pillow cases.
I wonder if my froufrou taste in bed linens encourages the dogs.
…with apologies to Lewis Carroll. We noticed that a neighbor had an old grill on their sidewalk last Sunday, and as we passed it, Fuzzy teased, “You know how you keep saying you want a grill…”
I pointed out that since there was no sign saying otherwise that grill was probably out for trash. It looked much more than “gently used.” In fact the words, “natural disaster” sprang to mind.
The thing is, I do want a grill. We have one of those George Foreman counter-top things, but I want an outdoor grill, the kind with the propane tank and the froufrou grill cover, and the ceramic briquettes instead of real charcoal. I want to roast potatoes and grill salmon and steak all summer. I hate cooking inside when I don’t have to, and the Foreman thing’s okay, but there’s just something about actual FIRE that makes meat taste better.
Vegetables too, for that matter.