While shopping for house wares with my secret gay husband…Yes, he knows he’s gay. The secret was, at one time he didn’t know we were an old married couple and we are destined to spend the rest of our lives together, whether he liked it or not. I’ve since brought him up to speed. …Anyway, we were looking at curtain rods for his new apartment when I hear a familiar voice calling my name…
Do you remember that loose-legged feeling you would get as a kid just as you were caught doing something wrong? Not me of course, I was a perfect angel. The sensation is akin to that time when you played hooky from Junior High because you really weren’t feeling the Social Studies test or P.E. (it was field hockey that day and your shins were still bloody from the last game), so you decide to take some much deserved time off, a “mental health day” if you will, and go to the local theater to see what’s the big hype about “Purple Rain”, which you enjoy but don’t think Prince is “all that”, when you bump into your really uptight 3rd period teacher … yeah, that feeling.
Oh the familiar, pungent flavor of irony. Perhaps I should write a fantasy blog about winning the lotto.
The doctor was lovely and gracious as always and wanted to know if I was well and exclaimed how much he missed seeing me. He is so good with the guilt. I have his next available appointment.
So I’m still making felt and feeling pretty scientific about it too…
I’ve created swatches of different gauges to full. Notice the machine washable cord running around the blue stitches on the photo above? I realized just as I was throwing them into the wash, I might have a difficult time counting the stitches after I’ve made little felt tiles. Fulbright scholar, I tell you.
I think its sentence should be disembowelment. I’ll attempt to resurrect it into something lentil shaped.