I’d wear the coat while I worked, but it won’t fit over my bathrobe.

I wonder if I throw up and turn over my blog to my muse if Nora will come visit me

:devil:

So I’m left with the burning question—how on earth did you get your carpenter to swing a hammer at home? Lucky woman. My electrician and I have lived in this house for twelve years and I still have outlets from the dawn of electricity that refuse to keep the plug in for more than two sweeps with the vacuum. (We don’t talk about the tangle of powerstrips under the desk.) A plumber’s plumbing is never plumbed and all that.

And if that was my coat, I’d wear it to write. (Probably with a bib over it, though.)

Take heart, Shannon. For years I wrote in a converted den the size of a stingy closet. Then I married a carpenter (Who would become a bookstore owner), and he BUILT me an office.

But I do have fabulous shoes.

They CHARGE for toilet paper? The things you learn.

But hey. At least your muse talks to you.

Or bitches at you, whatever.

But take heart, Ezzie — Nora may not worry her pretty little head about the unit price of TP, but I sincerely doubt she sits around and writes in that snazzy leather coat, either.

She probably even dribbles coffee over herself, now and again. :eyebrow: