That is what the sky looked like this morning when I went out to feed the cats and open the little sliding door so that the chickens can go into the coop.
Saturday morning although it feels like Sunday to me. I am all screwed up on my days and setting the clocks back tonight is only going to make that worse.
Okay. Just for fun. Here's a trifecta of what plastic surgery can and cannot do for a woman:
Can you believe that's Carly Simon?
Why is it that men can just go ahead and let their faces age (unless they're Bruce Jenner) while women seem to have to stay eternally, uh, stretched?
Mick Jagger, who is seventy, can look like this:
Ms. Sarcastic Bastard Beloved sent me that picture last week and I've been freaking out about it ever since. I don't know why. I just have. Perhaps because Ms. Simon always had her own crazy, non-traditional beauty and she wore that non-traditional beauty with such grace. Now she looks like, well, an alien. Why don't women feel as if they can wear their own faces?
Hell, even Miss Kay on Duck Dynasty has had some work done. DUCK DYNASTY! I'd post a picture but I doubt any of you watch the show anyway and I've lost interest in it too as it's gotten way too scripted and stupid and Phil, the patriarch, seems to be getting more and more sex-and-god obsessed.
I still have a tiny crush on Jase but don't tell anyone.
Anyway, it's Saturday morning and I'm about to call Lily and see if she and the boys want to do something. The sky has now completely clouded over and it's a little chilly but I need to get out of the house and go be a human being in the midst of other human beings if at all possible. No mice or roaches or rats or bats carried me off in my sleep last night and I dealt with that little green frog myself. No, I did not touch it. I caught it gently in a jar and released it outside.
I'm such a wuss.
But I wear my own face.
Good morning, y'all.