a woman of leisure
I'm home... and just in time.
I pranced out the door this evening in all white, and now, thunder, lightning and a down pour. That's one wet t-shirt contest I wouldn't have meant to enter.
I got up this morning, intent on spending the day outdoors. A quick pedicure, and an ice coffee later, I was on the Great Lawn catching the first sunburn of the season.
I was asked to play wiffle ball, but, sadly, as I told the cute invitees, the most movement I planned to do all afternoon was flip front to back.
Back home, I showered, switched outfits, and went out for late afternoon of shopping and then over to the UWS for UN-fucking-Believeable Mexican food and margaritas. I bailed early, which brings us to now.
The storm is magnificent. Unless you're Sir Halitosis, who is decidedly anti-thunder storm. He has gone from lazily napping in a flip-flop (yet another strange habit) to racing about the house from one hiding spot to the next.
Me? I'm hanging out in my underwear, watching the storm. Too damn hot to wear much more, and too damn good at being lazy to do much more.
Lucky Fish. I got caught in the rain and had to hoof it from the train to my apartment in the downpour.
Ooh, I'll bring over the Boone's, and we can watch Crossroads. Nothing like some portentious thunder to liven it up.
Must you taunt the readers with wet tee-shirts and lounging in underwear, there ought to be a law. In fact in some parts of the country there might actually be a law.
On second thought, I don't want to live in those parts.
Sleeping on the flip-flops you say, hmm.
...I've a neighbor that likes to go about in undies, and such. Too bad HE's 70. eeew
No comment! Please, no press at this event. I simply cannot comment today. Very ... distracted. Adieu, m'amour.