Thursday, September 11, 2008

Running errands at 8:30 p.m.

I don't know about the rest of you, but when I'm so busy during the day that I find myself buying bread and milk at 8:45 p.m., I begin to develop an attitude.

Not that buying groceries at 8:45 is unpleasant. The store was almost empty, and there were no children around, which meant that it was a lot quieter and more orderly, and I didn't need to be paranoid that while wielding my heavily-laden grocery cart around the store, I was going to smack into a shorty with the equivalent of a food-filled SUV.

And of course, if you have an actual job, instead of being 98 percent housewife and 2 percent free-lance writer (more on that later) it's to be expected that you shop during off hours.

But I AM a housewife, and I'm SUPPOSED to be at the grocery store during the peak post-breakfast, pre-morning nap time slot. Either that or the pre-picking-the-kids-up mid-afternoon scrimmage.

And so I feel a sense of personal failure.

Now, why was I grocery shopping so late? Good question. It's because I had back-to-back volunteer meetings and was out of the house from 9:30 until around 4:00 p.m. And one of the meetings required that I show up showered, made up, and wearing halfway decent clothes. And you know what a challenge that is to a woman who lives in flipflops. So when I got home, it was to be greeted by unmade beds and copious evidence strewn all over the kitchen that someone (me) had been packing lunches.

Now, I signed up for Blog365 on January 4, 2008, which means that I blog every day. So where was yesterday's entry, hmmmm? Well, before I left at 9:30 (wearing a lovely ensemble and makeup) I had written this. Which is my insights on one particular fashion fad for Fall, 2008.

If you haven't already checked it out, please do! And I'll be your BFF if you leave a comment. Because the BlogHer powers believe in the power of community, so the more back-and-forth they see, the happier they'll be. I think. And I feel the same way, actually. So leave a comment--if not there, then here.

Or call me up and yell at me--whatever. I'm not particular.

And for tomorrow, I'll probably post all the knowledge I've gleaned from spending what feels like decades of my life attending board meetings.


  1. What I mean is ick is the comment on the girl in the 2200 dollar dress, her stupid shoes that make her walk on tiptoes like a pig.



Gentle Readers:

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xxx, Poppy.