It seems appropriate that January should slide away in a rain cloud. Goodbye, dismal month - I don't know anyone who loves January, do you? It always seems like a month to be endured, the end of Christmas cheer, and this year Lent is peeking around the corner, standing on her tiptoes, with fragrant lilies behind her back. We're shovelling king cake into our greedy mouths here, and guzzling our wine - some people are probably getting ready for flashing their boobs for beads. Me? Not so much. Last year I tried to convince The Fiance (in his former incarnation as The Boyfriend) that we really should go down to New Orleans, because FRODO, I mean, Elijah Wood, was the King of The Parade. A Tolkien fan he is, and a Saints man as well -but Mardi Gras in the Big Easy is something you leave to the very drunk and the very stupid. Or the very, very adventurous. The craziest thing that's ever happened to me at a Mardi Gras parade is that I've been clocked in the head with a Moon Pie. Be ye forewarned.
Tonight, as I left work, I thought - the day is literally blue. As I drove down the street to do mundane things like pay the power bill and shop for groceries, I thought, I must blog about it. It's been a Monday full of drizzle, with the swish swish of rain along the streets. Silly me wore my amazing and precious new shoes, which are SUEDE. Thankfully I avoided most of the puddles throughout the day. Another way to dispel the rain is to wear lots of pink, so I did. Even now I am wearing pink slippers. As soon as I got home from 'the' Wal-Mart, I jumped into my bed and scarfed the best reward for a rainy night - barbequed chicken and coleslaw. The Fiance made a short surprise appearance, with kisses dropped on my head, but I've spent my evening being horribly lazy. What else are you going to do on a rainy Monday night?
I have a confession to make - I've fallen in love with Trading Spouses. Shameful! Horrible! And I claimed to have TASTE at one point in my life. It's just so riveting, watching these kids freak out with a completely different mother in their home. The women try so hard, or don't, really - but even better is Super Nanny, which I am currently enduring the simpering Bacholerette for, because THAT is entertainment, my friends! Last week I was inspired, and ready to be reincarnated as a British nanny. I agreed with all of her disciplinary (if that is a word) pronouncements, celebrated the 'naughty mat' and so I'm counting down the minutes for my fix, in shortly 33 minutes.
The only thing left to do to bid January a proper farewall is to slurp a mug of hot chocolate, so - adieu.