Send In The Clowns

(Stephen Sondheim, 1973)

Let's face it, a fashionista I am not.  I guarantee that if I'm seen in anything pretty, colorful, or in vogue, my daughter gave it to me (she has excellent taste).  The uniform of the day every day is a pair of bibbies and a utilitarian top, the style of which changes with the weather.

I really had to laugh at myself this week.  I miscounted how many clean bibbies I had left, an error I discovered when I got out of the shower getting ready to go to town.  Rooting around in the closet, I found another pair.  Oh goody!  No, oh baddy.  Over the past few years, I've lost considerable weight, dropping from a size 18-20 to a 12, and that's a good thing.  However, the bibs I pulled out, the only clean set, was a 20.  The tee-shirt I took off the stack was one of Steve's, a 2X large.  Short on time and with a limited selection, I got dressed.  Honestly, I looked like I was ready for the circus with flapping pants and sleeves.  All I needed was a bulbous red nose and an oogah horn.

Thank goodness all eyes were on Michael.  He is a Support Dog in so many ways.