Oh, I know. I usually update by one in the afternoon, and now I'm about 6 hours late, and I'm feeling out of sorts about it. I may have to give credit where credit is due, and understand that I'm using my diary as a replacement for a sofa and a bearded man who's really interested in my mother. Unless one of you is a bearded man who is really interested in mother. In which case, I worry. But... call me!
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Ok. First things first. Bubbles in Arizona, sweet and lovely girl that she is, sent me my birthday gift. Unfortunately, some nasty customs official delayed it getting here in time for the actual day, by making the silly decision to open it up, rummage around, and re-valuing it so that I had to owe postage on my own gift! However, it was totally worth it, because she sent me my favorite fragrance. It's an insignificant little perfume called Lucky You, but you can't get it here anymore which is a shame, because on me, it smells like something you'd want to lick. Love me some Lucky You.
Right. So, my weekend. Let's start with Friday, shall we? Friday Friday Friday. The weather was lovely. I looked almost cute. I don't do cute, you see. I do striking. I do handsome in that female kind of way. I even do interesting. But cute? No. Not really. Regardless, cute-ish it was, especially while I was taking little mincing steps around a dance shoe shop. I looked at dance shoes. I made little cha cha steps in extraordinarily expensive shoes with suede soles, and that made me happy. I dipped and swayed and spun around, because it's perfectly acceptable to dance with an imaginary partner in this particular public place. Really, there should be more places like that. They lighten the heart. And with that happy heart and skipping step, I made my way over to the appointed place to meet my friend for drinks, where I continued to look cute, and continued to think about the plethora of dance shoes that I had tried on, which continued to make me happy, because it meant not only was I going to own a new pair of shoes (happiness in itself), but it symbolized a rebirth of a part of my life that I had enjoyed more than I care to admit. It meant that I was truly going to start dancing again, and that made my mood positively glow. And I did this happy glowing while waiting for my friend.
And waiting for my friend.
And going home.
Because I got stood up. Oh yes. Mare-Ingenii, your Mare, got stood up. And frankly, poppets, that's all I've got to say about that. Because dammit, I've spent my life being soft and nice and generous for the plain and simple reason that I don't WANT to get stood up, and then I did! And y'know? That sucks rocks. Like seriously big boulders. Ok? Thank you. Fuming. I was fuming! Imagine! Mare getting stood up! It's just not done!
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In other news, I'm going to work on forgiveness this week. Either that, I'm going to kick someone's arse. Or both. You be the judge. Go ahead. Clickety Click. Let me know. Guestbook on the left, just past the powder room and the curtained alcove I keep for trysts, with the butler.
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Onto more pleasant - and far more important - matters. I bought a dress! Whee! I bought a dress from Holt Renfrew's! My fellow Canadians will understand Holtz is kind of like our version of the American company, Saks 5th Avenue... or so they say. Whatever. Pricey and posh. You know that's enough right there to spin my top. Anyway, I purchased said beautiful item specifically for my cousin's wedding at the end of the month, but it's so well made, and so beautifully cut, and so classic in style, that I'll be wearing it forever. See! Pricey, posh and PRACTICAL! Ah ha! Your Mare isn't so dumb after all, poppets! But here's the best part... in a year when everyone will be wearing bias-cut chiffon frocks with flower prints and flutter sleeves, I'll be sparkling in an ever-so-slightly retro, ever-so-slightly full-skirted, ever-so-slightly cleavage-baring Basic Black Dress. It's gorgeous. It's absolutely delicious; it makes me feel like Grace Kelly, and it was destined to be mine. I know this because there was only one hanging there, it was in my (newly diminished!) size, and It Was On Sale! Ok? Ok? Exactly. It had to be mine. I've enlisted the help of Sleye, Accessory Queen herself, so that I will look so damn good, anyone who stands me up in the future will do so because they are busy throwing themselves in a river.
Hmph. Really. Stand Mare-Ingenii up. Who ever heard of such a thing?
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