Fuzzy

No, not the yarn - I've never actually been much of a fuzzy sweater person. My state of mind. DH and I did in fact get out of the house last night (last time was - let's see - the Christmas party. We're not that exciting.) It's not that I even drank very much - just that we stayed out (gasp) past midnight. Waaay past our normal 9:30 bedtime. And my body has been thoroughly programmed to wake at 0600, regardless of the fact that it only fell asleep 4 hours earlier. Normally I'd feel better after a nice long run in the warm spring sunshine, but I decided to wear these to the party:

Because I thought the slinky little white lace dress I bought deserved (for once) uncompromisingly sexy footwear and besides, how bad could it be? I endured the pain with good grace, and (heroically, considering that I spend 99% of my life in sensibly clunky Clarks and Rockports), managed not to fall down or walk like a skinny gorilla on stilts. All was well until the end of the evening when we hurried to nab a taxi and... here I sit, nursing my sprained ankle. I choose to see this as an excellent excuse for frequent knitting breaks.

Freshly baked muffins and strong black coffee on the patio offer some consolation, but you've got to mind your muffins carefully at our house.