Henry is looking out the window again, chittering his teefs at birds.
He is truly unconcerned with the shape of my blinds. Which is fine because I CANNOT WAIT to get a cute curtain there. Do you think Santa brought me a cute curtain? Aaaannnnd cue the part where my mother leaps off her roof, because she just spent the last two months asking me what I wanted for Christmas and I never mentioned the blind.
I tried to take a picture of the birds at the bird feeder, but of course as soon as my camera lens clicked on the window, they all flew off. They're high-strung that way. And it's a shame, because there was a cardinal and also Mrs. Cardinal, who is stuck being mostly brown through life while her husband gets to be all red and handsome and earn more money.
My soldier made fun of me for writing to him about my birds at the bird feeder. Hey, I had to write him once a week; pretty soon you start writing about the trivial things.
You knew I had a soldier, right? I'm pretty sure I mentioned him. I volunteered with this organization to write once a week and send a care package (read: Maxim magazine) every month. I am pleased to announce that Eddie, my personal soldier, is done being in Iraq and is home. Well, home-ish. Last I heard he was in Germany and all I can see on his Facebook page is an unbelievably cute message from his Nana which is about to kill me. She even signed it. "Love, Nana." I want to pinch her cheeks.
At any rate, fortunately I was assigned a soldier who had a sense of humor, so he found me funny and not berserk. And he'd write me back and ask when I turned 80, with the entire letter about what kind of birds were at my feeder. And you should have HEARD the guffaws when I took up knitting.
Speaking of being old, I went to my fancy tea yesterday with The Other June.
There's a hoity-toity hotel in town, called the O'Henry. It is not named after my cat. They have afternoon tea. With clotted cream. If you told me there was an all-afternoon vomit, jazz, and inappropriate apostrophe fest that also had clotted cream, I would still attend for the clotted cream.
Every single person at the tea was female. Do men hate tea? I know Barry Gibb drinks tea. Why so tea-shy, men?
They serve you with unmatched china, which I think is adorable. Also too, what are those little peppercorn-looking red berry things called? I used to work for a flower company and I had to proofread flower recipes, and we used those red things in every winter bouquet and now for the life of me I cannot think what they're called and I'm irritated with my own self.
Yeah. So. I meant to photograph all the pretty food when it came, but I forgot until just two lonely cookies were left. Don't worry, they got eaten, too.
See, you CAN take me anywhere.
At any rate, I am off to (gasp) go to the grocery store. I have no choice. We are having salmon tomorrow and you have to get it pretty close to when you're gonna eat it. I know the store is going to be a nightmare. Shut up.
This evening we are going to TinyTown, to have dinner with some friends and then go to the midnight mass, which starts at 10:30. What can I tell you? Midnight mass sounds better than 10:30 mass.
It is my guess that 32 people will read me today and tomorrow, but I said that last year and people read this dumb blog, so what do I know?
Merry Christmas, everyone who celebrates it! And if you don't, will you stay out of my grocery store today? It's gonna be bad enough. Thanks.