My poor blog is feeling a little neglected, and so I'm just putting up a quick post to appease its greedy nature.
Catgirl finally made it to France and is having a brilliant time. At least that's one less thing to worry about. The new cat is finally here, and Mica still hasn't eaten him for breakfast, so we're satisfied. There's even been some butt-sniffing going on, and anybody who knows anything about cats knows that that is a good sign. Everyone else just thinks it's gross...okay, even cat lovers think it's gross, but that's the way it works. In any case, I am eternally grateful that humans do not make friends that way. We finally decided on Musu (Moose-sue) as a name for our twisty-tailed little guy, although Jesús likes just plain Mus better. But since it's my birthday cat...it's Musu.
As for me, I am not here.
I'm out shopping, drooling over Versace and Valentino dresses while the shop assistants sneer at me with that "that is way too expensive for you" look. Unfortunately, they're absolutely right. I would have to skip paying the mortgage for a month to be able to afford one of those. Meanwhile, all these rich women come in with their Prada boots and their Carolina Herrera bags, and walk out with half the store. Sigh. So, I'll look at the cheaper stores and hope to find a decent dress for Princess V's Communion. Otherwise I'll end up squeezing myself into last year's dress, which is just a tad too tight. I guess I just won't be able to breath for a few hours. That shouldn't kill me, right?
I knew this year's aerobics program was not going well, but until I tried the dress on, I had no idea just how bad things were.
Elephant boy quit after a week, and they sent us a girl who looks like a slightly older, brunette version of the cheerleader in Heroes. But I seriously doubt this one would survive walking though fire or falling off the building, although her laziness sometimes tempts us to give her a little push, just to see what happens. She's always late and is more worried about how her clothes look than about getting us into shape. Why should she care? She's already in shape, so this is just an easy way to make some money. She just smirks with that "Man, you guys are lame, and I am so very hot" smirk. And then she says "Come on girls, you can do it." Do what? Do you seriously call that exercise? We don't even break a sweat. Pathetic. After nearly eight months we're all in worse shape than we started.
So, I'm off to drool over some more dresses I can't afford, and to finger the silks and satins while nobody's looking.