Starting with the pretty stuff

DH bought me a bunch of hydrangeas because he knows I love 'em and he's just that kind of guy. So I stuck in a couple of roses and some pretty purple things that have volunteered in the backyard, and got really an acceptable arrangement.

We get lots of mystery things coming up in the garden every year. The squirrels play landscaper and bury bulbs, seeds and corms they have stole from the neighbors' gardens. You never know what's going to come up next.

Saturday, because our favorite restaurant is closed for the fourth, we had to find another place for breakfast, so I picked Cafe DuBerry. It was - well, let's see - - the food was . . hummmm - - they had really pretty tablecloths!! And from the expression on the waiter's face, he was seriously constipated, so you can't EXPECT much service from a guy in that condition. We might actually have been in France the way we ignored and scowled at. I had a poached egg and toast, - the egg was hard as a ping pong ball and the toast was totally un-toasted. DH had a ham and cheese omlet which was actually more of a ham scramble with cheese melted on top. The hashbrowns were fresh, from grated raw potatoes going grey in an open tub. It's a good thing that Sully's closes for vacation every now and then because we learn how much we miss them when they're gone.

Here's the wonderful pink t-shirt that Benita dyed for me. I really ought to set up a proper photo shoot for it one of these days. I do love this shirt!

I went in to the local department store for a bra fitting the other day. I dunno. All my life, I've been a 36. As the weight went up, so did the cup size. A at 18, B at 28, C at 30, and then D. I've worn 36 D for 20 years now. 36 D is right on the border of standard issue. I'm looking for a bit more support and thought a different style might be more appropriate for me. The bra-fitting lady said that actually, I was a 34 Double D. Thirty four? I bought the only one they had, and it gave me one awesome suppport, but at the end of the day it left deeply incised red lines all around my chest. That's not supposed to happen, is it? Anyhow, 34-DD is outside the normal range, and I can no longer find bras in the regular lingerie departments. So I'm going to go to a specialty lingerie store and try this fitting thing again. After all, this t-shirt deserves an upstanding backboard.

There's an old-country Russian woman in the neighborhood who doesn't wear a bra. She is a good, substantial woman, and the girls fill out the front of her housedress and droop over the belt. It rather frightens me to think I could look like that some day.

Styles being what they are, I thought I would share a vignette I saw the other day. The bus pulls up to the bus stop. From down the street, a young fellow yells and waves at it, then begins to run. With one hand he grabs the fly of his pants and yanks it halfway up his chest to get his droopy baggy crotch up above his knees. He is groping in his jacket pocket with the other hand as he runs, and the knee-length heavy chain he has swagged from a couple of belt loops swings around and smacks him in the boys. He doubles over with pain and shock, then realizes that public transit waits for no man, grabs the chain and one leg of the pants with the hand on that side, gropes across his body with the other hand, trying to find the pocket where the bus pass is, and hobbles as fast as he can toward the bus. Poor boy. And I bet the busdriver was laughing just as hard as I was. The light changed, and I had to pull away, but like any crone, I think those hideous pants are their own punishment.