I ate breakfast yesterday wearing my Uggs and my old, Victoria’s Secret robe.  Truly a Paris in Pennsyltucky ensemble.  Why is that relevant?  It’s not particularly, but there’s a story behind the robe and I felt the need to share why I was wearing that outfit.  And in case you were wondering, breakfast was a 1-egg, Gruyère cheese omelette, with a spoonful of salsa.  No time to chop a tomato?  Salsa will work in a pinch.  Omelette (something French) + salsa = It’s going to be a great day!

MacGyver and his friend go Christmas shopping every year, on Christmas Eve.  Yes, that’s right, the day before Christmas.  MacGyver’s always looking for action and adventure.  What better place to find it than with all of the other men who are also doing their last-minute holiday shopping at the mall!  That much testosterone, a greatly-reduced selection of gifts, and a ticking clock can only mean danger, either for the men who are shopping or for the recipients of the gifts.

4:00 PM Christmas Eve

He:  I’m leaving to go Christmas shopping now.  Any suggestions for you?

Me:  I need a robe.  (I feel this is a safe request as I will never be required to wear it outside of the house, so if it’s hideous, who cares?  Not that Mac would ever buy me a hideous gift, but sometime I will post a picture of the plastic, gilt-framed, Mona Lisa hanging in our garage.)  But please, do not make it white or silky.  Nothing stays white out here in the woods, and silky?  We’re in Pennsyltucky, not Paris.

Christmas morning, I open the Victoria’s Secret gift box.  And what’s inside?  An off-white, 100% silk on the outside, lined with cotton, robe.  Perfect for Paris in Pennsyltucky.  I think he misunderstood and thought what I said that I didn’t want was actually what he thought that I wanted, which is what he gave me, which worked out in the end.  What, what, which, which.  It’s probably a few more shades away from white than it was when it was new, but it’s still warm and comfortable on the inside.  Like people, what matters is on the inside.  Sometimes you have to give the men points for trying.

And I had my Uggs on because my son called me outside, early in the morning, to see the “pasta” that was growing.  He meant the Hosta.  So I had to put my boots on to go out and look.  Pasta, Hosta, Schmasta.  They look like rhinoceros horns to me!

Then, I had to take my other son to the dentist for a check-up.  It’s been unseasonably warm here and that put me in the mood for sandals.  But it’s so early in the season, I haven’t had a pedicure yet.  So I slapped some polish on my toenails, put on my sandals with a pair of capris and a nice top, and off we went.

In the dentist’s office, I looked down at my toes and thought I had done a fairly decent, 5-minute pedicure.  And then my gaze moved up from my foot, to my shin.  Yes, that’s right.  Not only is it early in the season for pedicures, it is also early in the season for leg waxing.  Or leg shaving.  I’m hoping that the other clients in the waiting room were too far away to notice.  I tried to tuck my legs under the chair, but there was a rung in the way.  If you read a blog entitled “Hairy-Legged Woman in Dentist’s Office Waiting Room,” that will be about me.  And no, I’m not posting a photo of my legs.

I had to make two stops on the way home, but I just kept my legs moving continuously.  I figured if my legs were moving, nobody could focus on them.  If you read a blog entitled “Woman Sprints and Dances through Library and Grocery Store,” that will also be about me.  I’ll be shaving tonight.  I’m just glad I’m not a centipede.

Then we drove home.  Here is the shot after cropping.

Here is the original.

I took it on the drive home.  Literally, while driving.  Fairly safe with the camera set to Auto and no cars in sight.

Live dangerously.  Wear your Uggs with your silk robe.  Eat salsa with your eggs.  Take your hairy legs in to town.  Snap a photo from your car.

This was my Monday.  How was yours?  Leave a Comment, s’il vous plaît.

Bebe