The night I betrayed feminism.
I blame it on old age, even older house, and a freakishly warm night in Scotland. If my house hadn’t been the victim of 150 years of floorplan fiddling, the loo wouldn’t have been at the end of the hallway and down a half flight of stairs. If I hadn’t entered such an advanced state of geezerhood that nocturnal visits to said loo are now the norm, I would never have been in the bathroom when we met. And if Scotland hadn’t been so weirdly warm, I might have been wearing something more than—well, what I wasn’t wearing—when she arrived.
But there I was, multitasking as I took care of my personal business while looking at my phone to stalk check on my children*.
*[Don’t judge: 0-dark:30 in the UK is an excellent time to see what offspring in the US are posting.]
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Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
Woohoo! A Sue Vincent reblog. My day is perfect. Oh, and Sue–the Small Dog was going to leave you a note. Seems there’s an upside-down tissue box in the middle of your bed with a surprise under it. Have a nice day!
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Ha! At present the Small Dog is leaving me crane-fly corpses everywhere…
I’d rather have spiders 😉
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Dog love! [sniff…] Such a beautiful thing.
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I know. Bless her. Trouble is, I wear as much as you at night… and don’t like finding them barefoot.
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Our cat used to display her trophies in my shoes. Until the day I die, I don’t think I’ll be able to put on a shoe without shaking it out first…
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Ani just puts her ball in there… a rather pointed message… 😉
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