Even as I sit here with my laptop, I'm blowing off another social engagement.
This time I had showered, laid my clothes out on the bed, plugged in the hot rollers, and lined up the spackle.
I was glumly inspecting my roots in the bathroom mirror, wondering when I was going to get a chance to have them touched up. I ran through this week's rich, indigestible feast of unenjoyable activities.
Suddenly I realized that this week was even worse than I said it was in yesterday's post. I don't have a rehearsal on Wednesday. I have a performance followed by a luncheon.
This means the week looks like this: tea, luncheon, luncheon, capped by my brother's rehearsal dinner and wedding, at which point I'll be in the presence of the Wicked Witch of Boston and Vicinity, otherwise known as my mother.
This is a week straight out of Emily Post. It's a vast cornucopia of ladylike events, and frankly? I'm no lady. I can pass for one, but it's a strain.
The cry goes up: " Too much Talbots! Not enough Eff word!"
Honestly, the more I thought about this week, the more my heart sank, and the more I realized that I badly needed to make some cuts.
Then I thought about how much I really didn't want to get dressed up and drive downtown to meet Carmen Dell Orifice at a tea.
Well, the tea party won the prize for the event where my absence would be the least noticeable. There won't be seating, and only a couple of people will even notice that I'm not there.
So here I am, being my bad-ass jeans-wearing self.
You know, it's lucky I met Miss Manners two weeks ago, because if I saw her today, I'd have to dive under the table and hide.