We’re stuck in the middle of January, that’s what’s going on.
My book group met last night. I am grumpy about it. My desire to read the stack of new books I’ve got is not coinciding with their desire to read old paperbacks. Hmm. It’s fine. I read fast. I can read both. I can talk to people at work, who are sort of an informal book group anyway, about new things. Bah.
What else.
I’m not sure about the brown color of these tights.
I have to call a woman and say I don’t want her product.
I have to call another woman and talk about stupid stuff.
A woman at my book group terrified me with the report that her daughter was working at H00ters. I don’t want my daughter to work at H00ters. Is that likely to happen? Please say no. (I think I can put this into the category of irrational worries.)
Grumble grumble grumble.
The onion grass is sprouting out in the garden. Is this a good thing? Time to go out and garden? or a very bad thing — it’s January, for chrissake. No one should have to be gardening. There should be a blanket of snow out there keeping anything of the sort from happening.
There is a black cloud hanging over my head. Maybe I need a cup of tea.
On the upside, I walked down to BART last evening on the way to my book group. Downtown in the early evening is as entertaining as it is in the morning. Streams of people heading for BART. Streams of traffic, including a skateboarder, driving by. Cafes and restaurants spilling out into the sidewalk. A brief moment when the downtown is full and bustling.
Bah.
Those are very January thoughts. And, no, neither of your daughters will ever work at Hooters. Neither will mine.
thank you.
seconded–can’t picture your girls needing to wear the outfit–”bah!” indeed!–for some unknown reason, that’s become one of Ryland’s favorite 11 y.o. dismissive terms these days… Hope you got that cup of tea before things got really bleak!
and you!
Crankypants: I think my secondborn son is a lot more likely to work at Hooters than your daughters are. Good luck with your unpleasant phone calls. I myself am ruminating on how to gently and proactively remind two of my regular clients that when they bid on and win my donated massages at charity auctions, I suddenly have to give them massages for free. Not the end of the world, but sheesh!
Love, Crankypants of the Midwest
I am more worried that my son will return to the nest to lie on my new sofa watching endless series of FBI Files eating bacon sandwiches. Hooters – whatever that is – sounds quite attractive.
Sounds like January to me. Or maybe February. That’s when I usually get sucked into that mindset.