I'm gonna be late but . . .

I have to post so it can become ritual. Really, yeah, that's the idea . . .

That, I want to impress people with my ability to punctuate. I bring this up because someone complimented that "ability" recently. She didn't even know how much that would mean to me. Or maybe she did . . . anyhow, I'm going out to get my hair done . . . a very fifties sounding thing. I'm being a "Wembler" about if I want to keep it red or just to dye it all dark (espresso I think would be the color). I'm going to be late, as usual, since my hair isn't dry yet, make up not on and I have to drive to Milford.

The closet is painted. Two coats even. It would be done tonight but I have to pick up my brother, "the chosen one", at the airport. He comes once a year and everything has to stop . . . which is the major benefit of moving away, all the fawning when you come back. Let the overscheduling begin. The chosen always forgets that it takes twenty minutes to get anywhere in Detroit, even if you are just going to the 7-Eleven. So he overschedules himself and plans to be downtown and then our parents five minutes later, which makes him at least 2 hours late for everything. His girlfriend is a saint and really tries to keep him focused, so maybe this trip will be better. The family Christmas picture is Sunday and my sister refused to color coordinate outfits (for the record). I will be really amused if the chosen brings one of his extra cats (he already has five or six -- Monkey, Gimpy, Elliot, Six, Tux and one that I forget -- and he threatened to bring a kitten. How could he have a kitten?) since my brother seems to be running a "no kill" animal shelter that never places any animals.

So internet -- should you want any kittens, please just comment. I know the chosen has kittens to spare.