I put lip gloss on the cat this weekend, which pretty much is the last butterfly in my net.
But she was on my lap--and of course I mean Lily. Who else is crying out for lip gloss more than that girly cat? I have that kind that comes in a tube, where you squeeze it onto your finger. I am speaking of lip gloss now, and not cats. Anyway, there was some left over, and I said, "Does my kitty want some lip gloss? Oh, so pretty and shiny!"
And she didn't mind one bit. Had her cat compact been nearby, she'd have taken an approving glance.
In the meantime, Tallulah just started shaking again this morning, and I am worried. I will call the vet as soon as they open. She went a really long time NOT shaking, and I had attributed it to her sore footie, and yes I called it a footie, and if I were Tallulah I'd gnaw my throat out, too.
You know who does NOT want any lip gloss?
So, how was your Valentine's Day? Ned and I were invited to a party, and it was black-tie optional, which I guess I already told you, so on Saturday we shopped for clothes to wear to said party. We went to Belk, which we call Belt because my mother said it that way once and I cannot drop anything (see above reference to stabbing something with a steely knife)
Ned went to the boy part of the store, and I texted (I text him) (I have GOT to stop saying that) pictures of my dress choices. After I sent Ned this one, he said, "I'm coming over there." Then he sat outside the dressing room just like Pretty Woman, except Ned is not paying for me to not kiss him.
I ended up getting this one, and I held my arm out like that the entire time. Typepad is taking FOREVER to fucking upload pictures today, like more than three minutes per picture, so I can't show you my new shoes and my little sweater I wore with it and so on and I HATE TYPEPAD SO MUCH. Does anyone have any info on how I can just get my own damn fucking website? I am not kidding. Handsomest boy, ever.
It was the coldest night in the history of time, and the wind was slapping things against our windshield, and it was like God was saying, Stay innnnnn! Build a firrrrre! God talks like a ghost. But we'd gotten all dressed up, so.
The party was hosted by my coworker Poochie and her dashing husband, Steven, whose name is really Steven and I guess I didn't think up a blog name for him. Zed. Her husband Zed, and not at all Steven.
Fleeta was also there, in her VDay finery. If you HAVE a party, you really need to invite Fleeta. She's outgoing, but not in a hey, here's the lampshade kind of way, because of course I have the lampshade.
Anyway, good party. Excellent food, and they're vegans. You'd think it'd have been all, here's a piece of cauliflower. Get out. But everything was effing delish.
Tonight we're expecting a big snowstorm--I mean, big for here. It's very exciting except for how Ned is large and in charge at work, so even if it snows like a mother, he has to go in. This is why I have never been ambitious and have opted for trophy wife status. Other than not being a wife or a trophy. Say, nice 50-year-old trophy! I'm like a tarnished loving cup.
Okay, it's after 8:00 and I will worriedly call the vet about shake her moneymaker, over here. Maybe she's upset because Lily has on foundation today. What? She needed to cover her unsightly veins.