Sorry. I’ve actually had a fairly busy week, and it seems to have done something catatonic to my writeriness. (Writeriness? Is that a word?).
It was a nice busy week, though, with theatres and friends and art galleries and culminating in me prancing into town in a short skirt and foxy boots to watch H sing with his choir. The skirt-and-boots garnered me a fair bit of flirting (smug mode), and H was definitely the best looking chap in the entire choir by about 200 yards (smugger mode), so that went well.
There was as study done a while back, which suggested ovulating women are more likely to wear their snazziest outfit. I can only laugh wryly at my smuglet self, especially as Satsuma practically exploded with a pop this evening when we’d got home (oh, how it stung).
(Now that I’ve said that, Sod’s Law dictates that I shan’t have ovulated at all, and rather, won’t for another nine million years. Like Tyrannosaurus Rex).
We shall see.
Maybe I’ll have something interesting to say next week.