When I say that I want to get into your pants…

Today I had the extreme pleasure of seeing my biggest woman crush – seriously, if we weren’t both married to totally wonderful men, I’d marry her…if she’d have me – I am unashamedly in love with her.  My friend Tracy is from this isle, but she lives and works in Thailand, so I don’t often get to visit with her in person (more’s the pity), and it is always lovely to see her. My afore mentioned wonderful man and I travelled into Nottingham to spend the day drinking coffee and wandering ’round the shops with Tracy.  It was a great time.

I’m getting to the pants part…and, this is where this tale will equally disappoint some while it will relieve others. As I was standing in front of my wardrobe wondering what to wear for the day, I decided on a long summer dress. This presented the problem of chafing thighs. Sorry, I’ve lost a whole bunch of you now, I know…

For those still with me, I will continue.  So, yeah…I love wearing skirts, but in the summer (the heat and I don’t get along), when I am not going to wear tights or leggings underneath, I have discovered that I need something to prevent chafing.  I wanted to wear the dress… but I had yet to be able to purchase something like bicycle shorts to wear underneath (which would keep my legs cool while preventing the, um, OUCH! I know… those of you who are size zeros, with thighs that aren’t even in the same postal code…I’ve lost you, too…anywho)!  So, I was considering just putting up with the pain, even though I knew there might be a great deal of it, since a lot of walking was going to be a main activity of the day. Then, inspiration struck!

“JAMIE!”

“Yes?”

“Any of your boxer briefs clean?”

“Uhh, yeah…”

“Good.”

And, voila!

Hey, if men can secretly wear women’s underwear – not that I am being secret about me wearing men’s – why not? 

And, as we were walking to the train station (in much more comfort than I would have been otherwise), I started laughing. Whenever I’ve talked about getting into my husband’s pants, I’ve never thought how literally that would one day be.

And now, I do apologise for those of you who were waiting for something steamy and saucy, well…

         maybe next time Tracy comes for a visit. 😉

The Question Is…

“To be or not to be?” is not the question.

“How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll centre of a Tootsie Pop?” is not the question.

Not even “How many singer/songwriters does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” is the question.

The question is…

Image

“How many cups of coffee will be required in order for me to function at all today?”

That, my friends, is the question!

Lists? We don’t need no stinking lists! Or do we?

Today’s Daily Prompt: The Satisfaction of a List

Who doesn’t love a list? So write one! Top five slices of pizza in your town, ten reasons disco will never die, the three secrets to happiness — go silly or go deep, just go list-y.

Who doesn’t love a list? Me! The satisfaction? Really? They are too organised for my chaos. They are too constrictive to my natural free-spirited, impulsive nature; they go against my spontaneity. The only lists I regularly make are set lists for my gigs (and those not as regularly as I’d like…grrr…but, I digress) and song lists for when I lead praise and worship, like this:

wpid-24-March-song-list_01.jpg

I even have trouble making shopping lists. Honestly, I kid you not, I just attempted to type the word “lists” and it came out “lusts”. See, lists and I just don’t get along. I’d obviously rather be writing about lust than lists! Well, who wouldn’t, really? (And, I’m sure someone just answered that question with, “Well, I’d much rather write about lists…” AHEM, moving right along…).

It’s not that I cannot see their benefit or that I don’t use them when absolutely pressed to, but the idea that everyone LOVES a list? Come on! Not I, I say. I’m just a rebel that way. 😉 Maybe we do need them on occasion, but love them? Puleeeeze!

I’m not even going to “categorize” this post. If any post should be “Uncategorized” it should be this one.