Oh, I am being a glum chum. Indeed. I should be at the dance. Should be. (Don't you hate shoulds? I do. Although I guilt-trip myself with them. Frequently. We're actually quite close, shoulds and I. But that's another story. For another time. Maybe. But tonight, dear readers, you're safe. I won't bore you with the Denise-Should affair.)
So. I am staying home. (I won't dance, don't ask me. Oh, Blossom, love your version of that song.) Anyway. Here I sit. Black yoga capris. Black tee-shirt. White socks embellished by a touch of soil - the merest smidgen. My ensemble on this night.
But if I had been a good girl, if I had been a dutiful and fruitful student of stitchcraft, I would be wearing this comfortable, yet fit-for-a-1930s-film goddess pajama and bolero number. Simplicity 2509. Is it the most? It is. Absolutely. Love the sash. Adds that touch of carefree elegance so needed to lift a gloomy Friday-night-at-home mood. Just the ticket for nesting. For cuddling. For watching House Hunters. For fryin' up a mess of catfish.
And that, my sweets, is what I am off to do. Just the thought lifts my spirits an inch or so. Or maybe it's Ella and Harold Arlen working their magic. Mmmmm . . . oh, well. This moment, this minute, catfish calls.