Showers It rarely fails: I always feel better after I step out of the shower. I'm not a morning person. I need coffee and, most of the time, breakfast, within minutes of waking up. Waking up consists of letting the cats outside and sitting cross-legged on the couch eating breakfast and reading the paper. It also includes a session of Pilates. Despite the exercise, only when I get out of the shower do I feel truly awake. Or, maybe it's that nummy Fig body scrub I bought at Bath & Body Works, which smells like a cookie that's been lightly dusted in your Mom's perfume.

Mommy Has Too Much Disposable Income After brunch yesterday, my friend L and I went to the new pet store on St-Laurent just above Duluth. After cooing at the adorable kittens in the front window and wondering whether Punkin would play with the several-dead-mice-on-springs toy, we wandered to the back and found even more adorable kittens asleep in a cat hammock. "Hey! I wonder how much those are?" Thirty-five dollars later, I'm the proud owner of a cat hammock and a several-dead-mice-on-springs toy. When I got home, I called the kitties in and excitedly/proudly/expectantly plopped the new purchases on the floor. Confused, they simply wandered over to their food dishes. I rubbed cat nip on the new purchases. They licked it all off. I put their favourite toy in the hammock (as if that would clue them in). They swatted the cat toy out of the hammock. I put one of my best, but unlaundered t-shirts in the hammock. They demanded to go outside. Despairing that I'd have to donate the purchases to my parent's church bazaar, I discovered Nomar sleeping in the cat hammock this morning. They were just toying with me. (This isn't Nomar, but you get the idea.)

I'm Baaaaaaaack After a summer free of blog entries, I'm ready to start re-recording the twists and turns of my life. Thanks to those of you who wondered why I had fallen off the face of the earth. I'm fine. Really. Pig Tails My furnace has "given up the ghost". The Gaz Metropolitain serviceman who came to give my 25-year old forced air furnace a fall tune-up told me that four burners needed replacing (whatever they are), the motor was working too hard, and that I would likely die of carbon monoxide poisoning sometime this winter. "What would you like to do, madame," he asked. This morning, a GazMet representative showed up at my house to show me the different new furnace options. Running a bit late, I decided to forgo a full shower, meaning that I didn't bother washing my hair (those hotel shower caps are wonderful!). Rushing to get dressed before the door bell rang, I put my hair in pig tails in an attempt to provide some style to my bed head. My hair hasn't actually been long enough to tie back until recently, and I haven't worn pig tails since Fall 2000. Thanks to my failing furnace and the GazMet rep, I've discovered the advantages of wearing pig tails. You don't have to wash and style your hair, and people tell you that you look cute all the time. I may never wash my hair again.