Boomer Chick Musings

Attire: Suits for the men, evening wear for the women. So the invitation said.  It was a special night for a special friend who had become involved with the good work of the members of the Scottish Rite, a Masonic organization. Ut-oh.   I don't have evening wear.  And I wasn't going to start getting any.  I've been to a couple affairs of the Masons and their associated groups over the decades.  When they say evening wear...they mean evening wear.  Gowns.  Fluffy.  Frilly.  Chiffon-y.  Pastel colors.  What they didn't mean was Marilyn. I called my friend's wife (our kids were best friends in grammar school).  I told Bobbi I couldn't go because I couldn't meet the attendee dress requirements.  The 'evening wear' phrase concerned her as well.  She said she'd found a skirt she thought might work.  I was prepared to tell Jim myself but she said she'd give him the message. Two days later I got a note from Jim.  It was lovingly constructed an

Called my boss late last night.  Left a message that I wasn't going to be at the sales meeting the next morning.  I'd be more of a distraction than an asset.  Is it even possible to look human during the course of a nose blow?  And toting a box of tissues doesn't say  "Let's go out for coffee after the gig." Stayed in bed for awhile.  Got my morning spiritual read in.  Started working on various projects: real estate, cleaned up some loose ends of my dad's estate, did some laundry, and filed the pile on the floor.  Actually, the pile didn't get filed.  It got moved to another pile I can't see when the closet door is closed, hiding the stacks of stuff waiting for action. I was alone except for whoever I had on the other end of my landline or cellphone.  Couldn't be seen and I sure wasn't going to put the Skype video on looking like I did. I stayed in my jammies until 4:30pm.  By the time I cleaned myself up and went out the door at 5pm