Supine, divine 39

Well there was much to be said for 39 and the, for the most part, supine birthday. The salmon dinner cooked by my beloved was divine. The dodge of the hockey play offs by me (not he) was equally divine. I took a brief foray into Mark’s Work World to ogle the talking tire gauge and discovered it is no more to be ogled. I did notice a peculiar line of clothing called figure enhancing which appeared to offer false padding to women who would have no use of such padding based on the regulars who enter the place. Frankly who in their right mind would be going to Mark’s Work World to get their bust fashionably enhanced. You tend to go their to buy steel toe boots, or illuminous traffic vests or scrubs or thermals or/and or/and not to come out looking plus busty!

I did not dally due to me banjo’d back. I’d several film recommendations from friends and decided on Godard’s Pierrot Le Fou and Swept Away (Lina ? hold on a minute til I watch it). It was moi and the couch and my knitted blanket. Icepack, advil, glass of wine and Godard. It was quiet and dandy. My males were busy and joined me when they were finished being busy. It suited all of us and we all suit each other.