Quick Change Artist

I'm beginning to feel like an Edwardian lady, what with all this changing of attire on go-to-town days.  Bibbies for barn work, jeans and a clean top for the doctors' office (they're only interested in my upper half), back to bibbies to put the kids to bed, and lastly a nightie.  It also makes for a mountain of laundry.  The dog gets depressed when I put on a bra because she knows I'll be leaving.  Living alone as I do, I don't bother anymore at home.  The bib on bibbies hides a multitude of sins and/or deficiencies and, at my age, nobody looks anymore anyhow.  That implement of torture is the first thing off when I get home.  Ahhh!

Monday appointments are going to take longer, as that's "see the doctor" day.  Yesterday I was informed that they want to extend treatment for an additional week for targeted booster radiation.  On finding that it would "boost" chances by only a degree or two, I declined.  All this changing clothes is getting to me.

I'm running late, the computer keeps locking up, I've got feed to unload from the truck, and I've got to get dressed.