The holiday niceness has finally begun to take its toll. I feel a need to let loose my inner male, or at least give it a winter airing before bottling it up until spring.
Rephrasing Yonks who asked over the weekend that if the Mayans are correct and come the winter solstice next year we're toast what would you want to accomplish this year?, I'd wonder how to spend that last day. Your answer may depend upon where you lie on the belief in the afterlife continuum.
Given assurances that in fact the Earth and all on it were going to perish later in the day, my final moments would likely be unpleasant for Lauren Hutton, who probably has her own plans, which likely don't include me.
As long as the probability of universal destruction is low, I took comfort from a recent J Crew catalog. Like Ralph, J. Crew is allergic to using adult women as models, perhaps because there are so few whom "toothpick" pants would flatter. Accidently perhaps, Ms. Hutton appeared in J Crew ads once upon a time. Looks like her granddaughter, the one with the American teeth, has replaced her.
Zank heaven, for very tall, 'tween girls who like to play dress up. Now that I have that out of my system...