Jazzy Does 100 Days of Happiness 66
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Jazzy Does 100 Days of Happiness 29
The garbage bins and the paper and the recycling were at the curb when I turned in to my driveway after work on Wednesday night. The inside front door and the garage door were both wide open. The barbecue was on. The sat-radio was blaring away. There was a half-naked man in my kitchen.
Well, that sure beats coming home to a quiet empty house.
Yes, W is home for a while. He drove through four provinces in two days to get here because there’s too much damned rain in Ontario. Also, he thinks he needs to be here with me to face the scary appointments and doctors at the University hospital. This works for me. Plus he shops for groceries and he cooks and he cleans up the dishes. He pours my wine.
Speaking of wine, this one from B.C. is devilishly good, just like the label says. Or my taste buds have fermented and gone to hell. It’s a toss-up really. All I know for sure is that I’m not telling you how much of it I consumed in the three hours between getting home and going to bed.
Today I went and got a seasonal haircut. By that I mean there’s no guessing now about the size of my ears. The weather is lovely and hot and I’ve got a couple of fans going for the first time this summer. I will NOT be complaining about the heat. Somebody slap me if I do.
Our grass is green, our trees are tall. Two squirrels, a jack rabbit and a duck dropped by for our barbecue. The magpies have decided our backyard is a good place for their afternoon squabbles. And we just might get a deliciously diabolical thunderstorm tonight.
So yeah. Life is good.
Jazzy Does 100 Days of Happiness 12
You know you’ve hit the bottom of the barrel full of hot topics when you start posting pictures of your own feet. But I don’t care, I’ve got nothing else. And this could serve as a gentle reminder to us all that if your toes look all gnarly and deformed, a pedicure, no matter how lovely and relaxing and thorough, is not going to miraculously cure that.
These are my sparkly going-for-a-pedicure sandals. They are good for wearing while you are sitting down, and great for presenting a challenge after your feet are all soft and slippery and have to carry you down a flight of stairs and across a gravelly parking lot on the way to your car.
I chose this colour from the summer pallet, which also had yellow, pink, coral and several shades of brown in it. I didn’t ask what’s with all that brown, just in case they know something about our up coming summer that I don’t. This shade is called “Intention” because calling it watermelon red would be too easy. It’s got sparkles in it. The lady next to me had her toes painted a kind of dull mink brown, and then asked for gold sparkles over top. Mine were done first, so I’m going to assume they inspired her.
There was also a man in a black bathrobe across the room from us having his size twelve feet treated to everything but the polish. More men should have spa days. I keep trying to convince W to at least have a pedicure done. If there are other more futile ways to exercise my powers of persuasion I can’t think what they might be.
The trip to Greece of course came up in our six way conversation and my esthetician assured me that my toes would look gorgeous against the black sands of Santorini.
These are shoes I can actually walk in. Now that my feet are ready for summer, time to go find a summery place to show them off.