I have a pimple. Right on the end of my nose. Is it fair to be forty, have laugh lines, and still get pimples? I think not.
I also got my once-a-year-perm yesterday to put some uniform curl into my hair with a mind of its own, and it stinks. I'm not allowed to wash it for another whole day, so I'll have to live with the irritating smell for a while longer.
I have to call the airline for a third time about misspelling my name on the itenerary for a flight scheduled for October. Imagine me arriving at the airport, not being permitted to board the plane, then consequently being arrested by security for pitching a fit about the airline's mistake. I'm guessing it would be best to remain proactive with Continental instead.
It after 9 a.m. here at True Vyne farms and fog hands like a thick wool winter coat in the closet over the fields. My children are recovering from a manic Monday of busy- Co-op, ballet, two soccer practices in different cities, and Scouts. Pooh Bear and I are starting to dread that routine, and I don't see a way to lighten it up until after soccer season. Bless her heart, she arrived at ballet with one pink slipper and no doodle-do (family name for pony tail holder).
I do count my blessings, but it's not helping lift my overall blue. I think there is a connection between the shortening chilly days and my mood.