Happy New Year, dear readers, and unlike my own propensity, I hope it doesn’t take you till June to write 2014 instead of 2013.
I would like to think I had come up with a resolution for you, but I know my record with keeping one, and it’s currently at 0 and 60, so who am I to try to shatter a record now?
I would also like to think that I could try to achieve at least a year of natural fiber in my life. No I don’t mean Metamucil or a stiff shot of bran; I mean cotton, wool, linen and – yes please – cashmere and silk.
Being in the depths of winter as we are, just in case you hadn’t noticed, I noticed this year more than in the past that the insulation in our outer walls, if I was kind, could be described as being a one ply sheet of Kleenex. My computer station sits against one of these walls, and it becomes an interesting little Arctic blast as I crash away at the keyboard. I’m afraid our heating system cannot compete with Canada sitting just a wafer away from my knees.
So, I have resorted to my fleece robe. So efficient is it at keeping a body warm, I can’t wear it any other time of year as I would melt into a small grease spot, but right now it’s just the ticket.
My feet and ankles became a problem though, so I thought I’d do a little online shopping and get myself some sheepskin boots, but came across some adult booties which looked like they’d be a cross between a duvet and a sleeping bag for feet. Pretty they ain’t, but light and warm they are.
Fabulous, I hear you say. Annie is nice and toasty through the bitterest of winters.
I do have a bit of a technical problem however. Our living area is floored in bamboo, but our bedroom area is carpeted. Living room and kitchen pose no problem at all, but the bedrooms are a different matter.
As I move around the house, Sir has learned to avoid me like the plague. I become so charged with static electricity that if I go to give him a friendly smooch, lightning flashes between our lips and sparks fly. Now I know that’s a desirable thing to have a romance which leaves you all a-tremble, but to need defibrillating after only a peck or two probably isn’t quite what the bodice-ripping authors had in mind.
I’ve had Sir turn up the humidifier in the basement, but I feel only tropical conditions will dampen my electrically charged being. I’m beginning to think I must look like one of those cute little kids wearing shoes which light up with every step.
Page 2 of 2 - But even those little cuties don’t go “tzzzzt” with each step.
I will therefore resolve not to set my Sir on fire as I look for a wool robe, and yes, sheepskin slippers.
And so, tzzzzzt, to bed, tzzzt.
Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at email@example.com.