THE THRILL OF VICTORY, THE AGONY OF THE FEET (*)

As y'all know from reading this here blog, we work on a reward system here at Chez Spinster. This means that for every good thing that I do, I get a little treat.

(Kind of like the way Stewey gets a cookie when he pees OUTSIDE instead of INSIDE, or when he gets a Snausage for not alerting the ASPCA that I am completely incompetent as a mo-ther.)

Now before you think me totally self-indulgent (which I am, by the way), I'd like to point out that after 45 years of perfecting procrastination, I have finally hit upon a system that seems to prod me into motion and out of the Happy Chair for more than six minutes at a time.

I write a list of all of the crap that I have to get done, and I review said list with the idea that if I finish all of the crap on it I can have a treat.

Seeing how Jeffrey Dean Morgan has yet to accept my invitation to come over for meatloaf, I figured that a nice reward would be a day of stitching. Yes. You read that right. Just a day to sit in the Happy Chair and stitch whatever my wicked little heart desires. So that's what's on the agenda today. Stitching.

(But I'm still available in the event that Jeffrey Dean Morgan wants meatloaf.)

Here's a little progress that I made on the Prairie Moon piece:


* The title of my post is the result of my unfortunate choice of footwear for yesterday's excursion to the eye doctor. I figured that I would run a bunch of errands since I was already out of the house and had a bra on and all, but I forgot that running through a Wal-Marts and a Targets and whatnot while wearing cute little sandals that really don't fit anymore but are just too damn cute to throw away would result in sore tootsies today. My poor little pinky toes look like they've been in a cage match.

I suppose that would be another good reason why my big b-u-t-t will be planted today rather than attempting to re-tar the roof or dig up the back forty for a cutting garden.

Too bad. I would have really liked a cutting garden.

Happy Tuesday!