Sunshine, Slips, and Random Bitchiness

You know I’m going to start off with the bitchiness…


So the sun is shining for, like, the first time in at least six months here in Indy. Seriously. It’s been so dull for so long—brown grass, trees, plants; grey sky—I was beginning to wonder whether I’d somehow stepped into a Twilight Zone universe.

Those of you who know me know I always say “From 8 to 5, it can hail fireballs, for all I care.” And those of you who know me really well know I mean that. If I have to be inside all day, I want all those people who are out enjoying the sunshine to pay for it. Hail, fireballs! Hail!

But I do get tired of the blah. Go to work in the twilight. Go home in the twilight. You know, but without the sparkly vampires. (Sparkly vampires? I can’t believe grown women are all goo-goo over Edward! My vamps would never sparkle.)

Anyway, I thought I’d wear a skirt today and free my legs from their winter prison. (And, truth be told, I’m getting a little frustrated with my muffin top the way my pants fit. Skirt=camouflage.) BUT… I couldn’t find my damn slip! I know. I know. You’re saying “Patwoman, nobody wears a slip any more. Don’t be such an old woman.”

Really. Blamey has actually said those exact words to me before.

But hear me out. This skirt is one of those swooshy things with a filmy layer over the under layer. Very pretty. But… ride ups like a, uh—a thing that just rides up, I guess. And with the filmy layer, you might think you’ve got all your bits covered, but you don’t. Trust me on this. I have given the neighbors a free show more than once.

But I couldn’t find my slip. It’s like it was abducted by some entity that takes random items around the house and hides them. (Remember the misadventures of Notpatwoman?) I’m thinking it must be there, right now, fraternizing with my hot glue gun (had to buy another one, thank you very much random thing-hider), my black hoodie, and several pairs of scissors.

So, here I am today. Struggled into Wore my pants instead of a skirt (have you ever seen how sausage is made…?) And it’s bad enough that I can see the damn sunshine out the window, but then Jordan calls to say it’s 68 degrees outside.

And it can hail fireballs, for all I care.