Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
So Elsa was here. It rained all day. I don't have a comparison photo of Lake Junebug because I didn't want to go out in the rain, but the storm wasn't too bad.
It was a good day to enjoy my purchases from the Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale. Yes, it's true. I am a Victoria's Secret woman and have been for a long time, to the horror of the farm women I knew in Illinois. Much of what I did horrified those poor souls.
Let's begin with my slippers, which arrived in their very own matching bag. It's a good thing I read the care instructions accompanying the slippers: DO NOT IRON DO NOT DRY CLEAN
I don't know if I would have sent the slippers to the dry cleaner, but I definitely would have ironed them. Now I know better.
The pink-and-white tie dyed item is the world's largest sports bra, which I'll use for making sport in bed.
The jammies are cotton in a day and age when too many jammies are made of polyester. I don't know Polly and I don't know Esther, and I don't want either one of them on my butt. Unlike the slippers, the jammies can be ironed. Like that's going to happen.
No slinky panties for me. I wear cotton briefs. My undies definitely have a crotch. The kind of rose-colored thing is a lounging bra––perfect for me because I lounge regularly and often.
Mostly, it was a good day to nap and laugh at old Far Side cartoons.
Infinities of love,