Wednesday, April 09, 2008


A friend showed up unexpectedly at tango last night. She'd missed the last ferry back to Salt Spring, so came dancing. I offered her my couch to crash on, and we were discussing sleeping garments--can't let the poor woman sleep in her clothes after all. But, I don't think I own a nightie, or flannel jammies or well anything of that nature. I admitted I sleep in sweat pants and a fleece sweatshirt. Ooh, the images of sexiness that must provoke.

Another friend looked at me in shock, surprised I didn't own a night gown. She obviously had images of frills, lace, satin maybe. Where did she get that idea? So I asked and was told that she thought I was a 'girly girl'. Gasp. OMG, no. Not that!

"What gave you that impression?" I asked her in remarkable confusion. Girly girl? Me?

"Well, you know. The clothes. The shoes. The curves." Can't argue the curves. Or the shoes for that matter. But that makes me a... no, I can't say it again. It is just too horrible for words. I'd rather climb a tree than figure out how to put on make-up. Yep, I quilt and know how to bake extremely well, but I am not one of those. Exact opposite really.