I don’t know Kim Rogers, but I hate her. Her clothing line for Belk evidently runs small, because I find my “normal” size is a bit snug if it carries her label. So I have to size up, and this perturbs me. Life ain’t fair, I’ve known this all along, but clothing should be! I dated myself today. One of my friends purchased her daughter a car for her birthday and posted a picture on Facebook. It looked like a dern nice one, much better than what my friends and I drove at sixteen. I commented, “Sharp!” After posting I thought, “Nobody says that anymore. Not even Boomers. That’s it. I will never be cool again.” Not there was ever much hope. I love it when people say they like my house. It’s nothing special, but I’m proud of it. I think I’ve succeeded in making it a home. Almost all my possessions are objects I’ve collected around on my travels. Of course the books make it cozy. There’s usually something cooking or maybe a cake under the glass dome. I’m trying to cut back on those, though. I try to keep it tidy, but there is always errant dog hairs here and there. And Amy hairs. But I feel like if you like my house, you like me, because my home is a direct reflection of me. And, it would stand to reason, you probably wouldn’t be welcome…