I was thwarted this morning, ladies and gentlemen.
The pretty blonde girl who doesn't know what a camisole is, and who works at the nearby coffee shop, had commented favourably about my Christmas ties this week. Screwing up my courage, I asked her if she would pose for today's Christmas tie pictures. I think I said something like, "Wouldyouliketoposeforapicturewithmepleasepleaseplease?" Much to my surprise, she said yes. We agreed to take care of it in 5 minutes.
But I sat down with my work chums and drank coffee. I regaled them with my tales of derring-do, and they hung on my every word. They were spellbound before me, ladies and gentlemen.
I lost track of time.
I remembered my arrangement with the pretty blonde girl who needs to look up "camisole" at www.dictionary.com, and rushed over to her. She said she was busy making sandwiches. Sandwiches! Have you ever heard a more flimsy excuse? I mean, if she didn't want to pose with me, why not just come out and say so? I am man enough, barely, to sustain such rejection without incurring lasting damage to my psyche.
Dejected, I returned to work.
Around 3:45 this afternoon, I remembered that today's pics hadn't been taken yet. I grabbed the camera and asked the lovely Jeannette to take a few pictures. This is probably my favourite picture of this year's marathon, thus far.
I hope you like it, too. If not, then think about how much that pretty blonde girl who needs to spend a bit more time with her nose in an underwear catalogue feels right about now. She blew her chance! To heck with her, ladies and gentlemen. I don't need her. I never needed her.
I'm caught up on the pic posts. I'll write more tomorrow. Another day taking my mother shopping. Going to bed early. I need my rest!! She wears me out.
P.S. Are camisoles actually underwear? I mean, I understand their function, but do they truly constitute an undergarment? Anybody know? Slowly tell me about it.