There is a problem with the tree skirt doubling as a woman skirt. You would have to have a waist the size of Scarlett O'Hara's. Or maybe less. For Corn's sake, it won't even close around my Christmas tree and I hiked it all the way up to the trunk because it wouldn't even begin to close lower around the stand. Well, it looks good, even though it's a shame I can't button it up and make it look REALLY good, but such is the story of my life with decor. I asked Mike again today, Do I return the Can Can or do we scrunch a white blanket? He said, What is this, deja vu? I am sick and I cannot spell, so don't worry about it. Too rich food lately. Yesterday at Nordstrom's I managed a bowl (not a cup) of the lobster chowder, or what have you, plus a spinach and beet salad with goat cheese and sugared pecans and fancy dressing. At the choir party I ate a caramel sandwich. How does one do that, you may ask? By spreading caramel designed for dipping apple slices on white bread. This had to be done because the apples, I ate two of them, tasted like chemicals. What on earth do they drench them in so they won't turn brown? It's not lemon juice. I think this tray came made up from the grocery. Then I had pretzels and M & M's and peanuts covered in white chocolate. Plus Doritos and Coke. I went ape, I'm telling you. But it was all to avoid the Sam's Club beef brisket, which was the main attraction. Mrs. Carrot Souflett's son bit into his beef brisket sandwich and promptly announced that he just found a huge wad of fat in his mouth. He took it out, which I didn't see, but I know he did, because the next thing, he's holding it up in his palm saying, It looks like a cyst. Well, it did look like a big bubble. Okay, so why am I grossing everyone out, especially me? This boy, by the way, is adorable, and a civil engineer. He's BRAINY. And blunt.

So tonight I went to the "health" food store and came home with Wild Mushroom Penne Pasta, which just so happens to be loaded with heavy cream and sour cream and cheese. My midnight snack was a ham sandwich and glass of milk, and that, folks, is when the nausea crept up. Good thing I didn't make DTD'S birthday cupcakes tonight. I would have been licking the bowl and that, no doubt, would have been the last straw.

Have I told you that my school lunches used to make me sick? Not all of them. I adored the Friday tuna sandwiches. But Keswick's Shepherd's Pie?? Whoa, my friend Cindy had to take that off my plate (and numerous other kids', too). Take it off in a hurry. It was abominable. So, for years after, whenever I felt nauseous, my mind would beeline back to that lunchroom where the dish for the day came up Shepherd's Pie. Then I would feel sicker. Somehow, I have outgrown this dreadful connection . . . I hope. Anyway, I could pile up tuna sandwiches with the best of them.

You know what, Mike's church Christmas music service is in the morning. I'd better try to sleep off this food, and I've learned my lesson. Rich food is not my favorite anymore. Not to mention it won't help the Can Can skirt fasten any easier.

Guess what? It's DTD'S birthday. And another special person's, too. So, isn't that lovely?

Hark! One last year to call DTD, DTD. Then I shall have to invent something new and appropriate.

The night before DTD was born, I insisted we drive 30 minutes to Greensboro so I could eat pancakes from IHOP. I was in some sort of labor, but I've never figured it out. Save that story for another day.

Chow, chow,
KEM