Studly Doright and I are getting away for a few days. We’re heading to a resort hotel on Clearwater Beach for a belated 40th anniversary celebration. Hopefully the weather will cooperate and we’ll have fun in the sun instead of a fizzle in the drizzle.
My pre-vacation ritual always includes a couple of days in which we aren’t allowed to wear anything that might need to be packed. If at all possible one should just sit around the house naked, but Studly Doright played golf yesterday, and he’ll need to report to work this morning, both of which are better done clothed.
As for me, well…
Yes, I might or might not be naked right now, not for any prurient reason, but solely to avoid doing unnecessary loads of laundry.
Ok, so I’m not naked, but I am wearing a pair of too tight, too short yoga pants and a faded pink t-shirt that I pulled from the deepest, darkest corner of my closet.
At some point today I’ll make a trip to the grocery store. I’ll probably change into something less offensive. Or not.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 