Wintry weather. Nice weekend to cocoon. Am sipping a bloody mary that my hubby mixed for me. My fuzzy one is cuddled beside me in the snuggler. Yesterday we went grocery shopping, bought sausage for brunch today, but we must've forgotten to take it out of the shopping cart. Drat. Far too many senior moments.
Yesterday I added a new element to my blog. A poll vote. I didn't know what my first poll question should be, so I chose something fairly generic. This is simply for fun, and I welcome participation. As I've said before, the philosopher in me never sleeps, and I really value the opinions of others. So, if you like opinion polls, please join in. It's a way for my followers to become an active part of my blog.
We refilled our cupboards yesterday at the grocery stores with the usual necessities, like paper towels, puppy pads for our little fur girl, canned stuff, a couple loaves of bread, and other odds and ends. We visited more than one store, simply because we take advantage of their sales. The merchandising industry would call us, "cherry pickers."
It's the season to bake chicken, so I bought poultry seasoning for dressing. At our house, we just love dressing made from dried bread. I remember back in the 1970s we were in Upstate New York and we stopped at a quaint inn for lunch. The special of the day was "turkey and filling." The waitress was taken aback when we asked her what filling was. Well, we came to find out that their filling was like our dressing, or stuffing.
This afternoon the public television channel features home-improvement shows. My hubby loves watching them, and I've grown to accept Saturday afternoon as a time when I can sharpen my carpentry skills. There's one thing that bugs me a whole lot about these programs, and that's when women pretend to be house builders. They're decked out with their carpenter's belt and tools, lots of times they wear shorts and high work shoes, and they're telling us how to insulate a basement or tile a bathroom floor. Come on, people, this is done only to stroke the feathers of the women who are fighting for equality. Be assured, I want my equality, but I sure don't want to be expected to work like a man. Till my dying day, I love it when a man opens a door for me and treats me like a lady. Sometimes when we're out shopping a stranger will open a door for me. I always make it a point to thank him and maybe add a few words, like, "what a gentleman you are." Without fail, their eyes light up, and they are pleased. I've had responses like, "I try." We women can treat men pretty crappy lots of times, and maybe they don't open a door for us cuz they know we don't appreciate it anyway.
My philosophy is that guys will treat us like ladies... if we treat them like gentlemen.
Today's Humor: We women should marry men our own age. That way, as our beauty fades, so will their eyesight.