Yesterday the batteries in my watch stopped. Dead. Kaput. I feel silly for wearing it still because it does nothing except tell me that the time is 2 o’clock, and I can’t even be sure if that’s 2 o’clock in the morning or 2 o’clock in the afternoon.
Well, take it off!
For goodness sake, why not?
Because I’ll feel naked without it. Naked!
And I will, truly. I feel naked if I don’t have my rings on, or I run out of concealer. Naked is good, just not when it comes to particular things. Still, I may as well be naked the amount of times I’ve looked at my watch today and gone d’oh!
Ah, at least Christmas is but days away and I have a funny feeling that one of the presents under the tree is a Fossil of some variety.
*breathes a sigh of relief*
And that’s all I have to say.
I was going to write about the presents I finally made for my nephews as a thank you for being such superb pageboys. I was also going to mention that chap who was charged this evening with the murders of the five women in Gip, and how uncanny it had been reading about the case in such obscure places as the Los Angeles Times and the New Zealand Herald. The area the man lives is the catchment area of both the school where I worked before moving to The Shire and the school where I spent two years studying for my A’Levels. I was going to write about how it’s just really odd to see it on the international news. There’s even a whole page devoted to it over at wikipedia.com. Then I was going to write about the weird and wonderful way my brain told me something earlier. And how tomorrow we shall be fighting the crowds of people in Tesco. How I can’t stop buying decorations for my tree. How much Tabatha-Cat hates the new shaggy rug in my lounge.
But I shan’t write about any of that.
*runs off to play*
please God bless my dead batteries and keep them safe in battery heaven xxx Elsabeth