Well, I’ve been left on my own for more than 24 hours for the first time in 2012, and apparently I’ve turned into my grandfather because now I’m just one of those people who stands in the middle of the house in her underwear looking for things.
One of the manifold splendors of living alone is when you put something somewhere, it stays put.
So if I put my teal suede d’Orsays in the oven after a Grace Jones night in mid-spring with the intention of letting them sit unmolested in their glittery glory until suede came back in season in the fall, that’s where they’ll stay.
Now I just stand flapping helplessly while Hot Latin Boy –who commandeered all Putting Away of Things after I proved chronically incapable of remembering not everyone can reach the top shelf– patiently explains that the dog shampoo is in a box marked gloves behind the yellow wok, next to my 2007 tax return. Well, obviously.
I’m determined to go through all the cabinets and drawers and make an inventory of each one in my little green notebook, so next time I need to locate my spare bottle of OPI’s You Don’t Know Jacques, my trusty notebook will tell me it’s in the Twinings Transport Bus, along side an empty Nuva Ring box, Dozer’s heart worm pills and my passport.
So that’s what I’m doing this weekend. Well that and I managed to get the last copy of the September issue of Vogue –the only issue of American Vogue I ever read– so I’ll be working on my upper body strength by hurling it against a wall repeatedly.
Next week I’ve got a review on Eloquii (hint: get some of their camisoles with a quickness), my favorite dance shoe for the fat of foot and a few more goodies.
What’s on your plate this weekend?