not in our stars, but in ourselves
Dear friends and enemies,
I spent a lovely long weekend with friends – most of whom I hadn’t seen in ages – and, even more importantly, with Marmalade.
Marmalade is a pitbull, and she’s beautiful – as you can see. Her story, before Katie and Joe adopted her, was pretty sad: she was a breeder dog, and once she was unable to produce “enough” puppies, she was abandoned. Fortunately, she found her way to Protectors of Animals, and then to her new human parents. She’s very well loved, and happy, and a joy to know. I would urge any of you in the market for a dog (or a cat, or whatever) to adopt from a shelter, by the way.
Since I was busy meeting Marmalade…
…and playing croquet (in a sweetass Stepford Wives outfit, of course, because what else would a Cool Young Person wear while playing such a cool young game)…
…and drinking around the fire…
…I didn’t do a lot of movie-watching. Forgive me. It’s true: I could have watched something at some point yesterday, since I got back from Marmalade’s house on Sunday night, but I was busy going on a day trip up to Gloucester with my fella. No pictures of that excursion, I’m afraid, but fear not: I can Google that for you.
Anyway, forgive me for being ever so slightly off-pace, but rest assured that it was all for good reasons. I’ll get back to ruining movies and TV shows by being a feminist killjoy in no time.