obama us and tattoos

Where will it end? When will it stop?

I have an outerwear problem. I admit it to the world. I already own numerous coats and jackets. There is nothing wrong with any of them.

And I don't need clothes at all.

I just went to Italy for cripes sake.

I am trying to live with what my son calls a clamp on the wallet.

I'm taking deep breaths.


But dear reader, every store --EVERY STORE-- saves its one cute perfect jacket for when I walk in. Even stores with horrible schmattes and leftovers seem to possess one. They see me coming in and they rush to display it.

Uh, not this one, thanks. We don't want to frighten the populace.
It's driving me crazy. I don't want to name all my jackets. I don't want to and no one can make me, though I might if you contact me privately and speak in low neutral tones. It has to be at night with the lights off.

But it's a lot. The number is high. The Traveling Feast took our winter sojourn down to the Cape this weekend. Good fun, way too much food and drink, the usual.

I announced to my friends that I would just be windowshopping on this trip. I was happy and content with my role as sidekick and consultant to purchasers other than myself.

I did okay for a couple of stops. But you know? You can't let your guard down. Ever.

We walked into a lonely little shop (theme from Jaws) and I sensed it. (DAH dum) I felt it. (DAH dum) I could feel its eyes on me. (DDDDAAAAAAAdum) and then we saw each other. You can't stand in the way of love, dear reader. BLAM. A darling darling white ski-type of smushy smoothness, oh dear reader, what was I to do?

What would Peyton Manning do, I wondered.

I gave it careful thought, keeping in mind that he will probably blow out the Saints next weekend. And the answer came to me in a vision: Who the fk cares what Peyton Manning says about my jacket. My vision also suggested that I stop thinking about Peyton Manning to start with. He's nerdy. And it's my business alone. I'm free from him. He's not the boss of me. Goddammit.

So fk Peyton Manning! Yaay! I bought it. It's yummy. I can wear it to watch the Super Bowl and I hope the Saints kick Peyton's ass. He's got a lot of nerve pushing me around.





Winter Capesters








Go Saints!
love,
becky