Every year, there’s one day that Glynn makes me the queen. Queen Anne, so to speak. It’s always during the first week of November, shortly after Halloween. This year, today is that day.
By now, this is a game we’ve played many times. Glynn slips out of bed early-ish, usually before I’m awake, and he takes care of the morning chores. All of them, from dishes to the Chihuahua, from emails to laundry. Although he's usually careful to pick a day when all of the laundry has been done. Chores completed, he returns to the bedroom and, when I start to stir, goes to find my crown.
This is the picture of the actual crown and, yes, it fits quite nicely on my head. The head it occupies in this photo is our Halloween candy dish. Isn’t it fun?
If we ever find a crown that fits Glynn’s over-sized noggin, he'll have a day when he's the king. Just between you and me, I’m making no effort to find that crown. But he isn't either, really, or we'd have found one by now.
Oh, and he's the one who says his noggin is over-sized. I'm simply the one who agrees with him.
When I’m the Queen, there are rules. My door is always opened, my chair is always pulled out, my consort is ever obedient, and my every inexpensive wish is indulged. Today, we’re going to Panera Bread for lunch. Fuji Apple Chicken salad, *yum*. Later this afternoon, we’ll watch the 1945 horror anthology, Dead of Night, because (a) I love horror anthologies, and (b) it features Mervyn Johns and I’ve always had a fondness for his rumply presence, and (c) it’s British. Shouldn’t the Queen be a supporter of all things England?
No, excellent point, there are some things I can't defend -- and one of those is stargazey pie. That culinary horror show is an English sardine pie and, I know this to be true, the words "sardine" and "pie" should never be joined together. Also, the finished products looks so insanely wrong, I know I'll never want to try it. Even if Panera offers it on special.
By now, this is a game we’ve played many times. Glynn slips out of bed early-ish, usually before I’m awake, and he takes care of the morning chores. All of them, from dishes to the Chihuahua, from emails to laundry. Although he's usually careful to pick a day when all of the laundry has been done. Chores completed, he returns to the bedroom and, when I start to stir, goes to find my crown.
This is the picture of the actual crown and, yes, it fits quite nicely on my head. The head it occupies in this photo is our Halloween candy dish. Isn’t it fun?
If we ever find a crown that fits Glynn’s over-sized noggin, he'll have a day when he's the king. Just between you and me, I’m making no effort to find that crown. But he isn't either, really, or we'd have found one by now.
Oh, and he's the one who says his noggin is over-sized. I'm simply the one who agrees with him.
When I’m the Queen, there are rules. My door is always opened, my chair is always pulled out, my consort is ever obedient, and my every inexpensive wish is indulged. Today, we’re going to Panera Bread for lunch. Fuji Apple Chicken salad, *yum*. Later this afternoon, we’ll watch the 1945 horror anthology, Dead of Night, because (a) I love horror anthologies, and (b) it features Mervyn Johns and I’ve always had a fondness for his rumply presence, and (c) it’s British. Shouldn’t the Queen be a supporter of all things England?
No, excellent point, there are some things I can't defend -- and one of those is stargazey pie. That culinary horror show is an English sardine pie and, I know this to be true, the words "sardine" and "pie" should never be joined together. Also, the finished products looks so insanely wrong, I know I'll never want to try it. Even if Panera offers it on special.
This is stargazey pie.
There is one thing my consort refuses to do for me, even on my special day. He refuses to write this blog. He'd much prefer to lounge on the sofa (until his Majesty proclaims a need for his services). As I type this, he's watching the Bowery Boys in From Bowery to Bagdad. He's always thought that Leo Gorcey was kind of cool.
Consorts, am I right?
For now, I proclaim the week's blog as complete and adequate. (I may be a Queen, but I'm not deluded.) I hope your day is wonderful, too.
There is one thing my consort refuses to do for me, even on my special day. He refuses to write this blog. He'd much prefer to lounge on the sofa (until his Majesty proclaims a need for his services). As I type this, he's watching the Bowery Boys in From Bowery to Bagdad. He's always thought that Leo Gorcey was kind of cool.
Consorts, am I right?
For now, I proclaim the week's blog as complete and adequate. (I may be a Queen, but I'm not deluded.) I hope your day is wonderful, too.
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