A Note About My Friend And Her Li’l Bug


This is my friend Alison.



She’s an artist. And really tall.


Alison grew up with her family along the coastal shores of Maine. She spent a lot of time outside in nature and with her father on a boat on the sea.

Alison and dad

Once upon a time Alison decided to be an artist when she couldn’t stop drawing and coloring all the creatures that were part of her natural environment, especially the ones in the ocean. From this love, her Festive Fish business was born. Her motto – color your life happy!


I met her a while ago when I worked in the little Main Street bookstore in our village. We sold her colorful cards and calendars depicting simple, sweet and animated fish, lobsters, shells, and natural designs born from her bright imagination.

She told me a lot of stories about her life along the shore, and how her artwork was not just part of her life, but an extension of her heart and soul. One day she told me a story about a time that changed her life. But it was very sad. Tragic in fact. Clear out of the blue only a short time before we met, her father was diagnosed with cancer and it changed Alison’s life forever. As she held her father’s hand until he could not hold on any longer, she closely watched what it is like to experience terminal illness.

And Li’l Bug was born.

Alison told me all about Bug, and his long journey when he found out he was dying.


Alison worked and worked on bringing Li’l Bug’s story to life in memory and honor of her father, who she missed so very much. Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night and wrote down what Li’l Bug wanted to say. Sometimes she worked through the night drawing and coloring what Li’l Bug wanted to share. She even sewed Li’l Bug and he sat by her side day and night inspiring Alison to keep going, even when she felt like she couldn’t.

Finally, Li’l Bug’s special story became a real book, that Alison did all by herself. It’s safe to say that blood, sweat, and tears went into this project, one that helped Alison evolve her beautiful soul through gut-wrenching loss and grief.

Alison took her brand new book to her father’s grave, sat Li’l Bug down next to her, and read the story out loud. And now she would like others to hear his story. It’s a tale of true inspiration that reminds us to live our best life in spite of what life hands us. It shines a bright light on the importance of enjoying the time we have when we don’t have much time. It helps those going through medical trauma learn to feel peace. And while its message is especially wonderful for children, it’s filled with wisdom for adults too.

I wanted to share the bravery of my friend Alison, who listened to her heart and embarked on a difficult journey to heal, with the hope of helping others. It took a lot of patience and a lot of guts, and I watched her bring it from imagination to reality over the last two years. She never gave up or quit even when it got really tough. Congratulations Alison, and thank you.

Bug in a jar



I Always Believe In The Magic Of Life Bringing Me What I Need

160428.kitchenwindow1I stood at the sink washing dishes and looked out the window at the backyard. It’s private, wide, and lined by tall trees that lead into a place unknown. It’s a soothing view, one I appreciate no matter what the season or what is going on in my mind. I stand in this spot quite a lot, and can effortlessly lose myself in zen.

As meaningless as the task of washing dishes is, it is somehow important for the moments of unexpected introspection that come. I see the backyard – a muddy mess of what feels like our lasting winter’s residue – and I think about how it seems to magically transform on its own to a lovely green and nourished state.

I thought about that magic, and as it often happens, was hit with a hard Ah-ha. I suppose it’s been a long time coming, after what some might call a lifetime of avoidance. Until that very moment I had avoided not just the reality, but also the importance of sustainable green living, and I don’t mean organic farming or an eco-friendly habitat. I mean money.money

Call me crazy, but I lived my life under this guise that money would magically appear out of nowhere, my bills will get paid, and I would be able to comfortably enjoy life without fear of poverty. I never believed lack was my lot in this lifetime, and my circumstances and magical thinking supported that. Assuming that greenbacks had my back, I proceeded through life accordingly.

I’ve always had magical thinking, whether it’s a personality trait or a learned escape mechanism from a perilous childhood. The imaginary space in my head and heart of beauty and peace was real. I carried it with me forever, until recently standing at my sink.

I’m a fairly smart woman, full of wisdom and caring and light. But there’s that darkness that lingers inside…a place that has never been nourished, from the outside or within…the place that just revealed itself, when magical thinking stepped aside. fairy tale castle france

I really can’t just go out and buy something I want, or get the new kitchen floor that the room so desperately needs. No car, no vacations, no special treats or just this one thing. Instead it’s maybe later, when we can afford it, or when we get caught up.

I looked down at the old, worn linoleum tiles, trying to accept their place in my life. And at that moment my thinking magically shifted, reframing my perspective. I’m evolving perhaps, learning to be realistic and grounded as sure as I see my own very ground.

Recognize it, accept it, then do something about it, I once heard Oprah say. While I’m far from impoverished, I have some work to do. I know life isn’t a fairy tale about castles or a royal fortune, but instead about expansive love with infinite bounds. I have and cherish that, along with my magic-wand dreams. Sometimes as we learn, it’s all about the view.



Our backyard creatures, they visit every day.

What’s The Story With One-Sided Conversations?

Did you ever try to talk with people who ask your advice, only to have them talk over you and negate every thought or tidbit you shared, or worse argue that what you are saying won’t work – even if you are just chatting? Because hey you were sharing your thoughts per their request.

I hate it when that happens. And listen, it’s not that I care if you take my advice or not – although I do care about you – it’s your need to shoot it down instead of just conversing. Graciousness is a good trait.

Same goes for people who take over a conversation and make it about themselves when you were just trying to enjoy idle chit-chat. Or even when you’re trying to talk with a friend about something that’s on your mind and she starts relating to what you’re saying so much that she interjects her own experience and thoughts without even listening to yours. It’s a conversation usurp. FullSizeRender

It can even be as simple as asking someone how it’s going, and their me-train leaves the station so fast you’re out of breath before they even come up for air.

I end up feeling defeated and think to myself, “give it up, she’s not going to let you get a word in edgewise.” Or I just give in to the present moment with an internal heavy sigh and that important graciousness that allows me to sit there making eye contact like I care. Most of the time I do, but that doesn’t mean it’s not draining.

coffee with friendsOf course then I feel guilty for feeling that way. It happens with one friend I have in particular. I adore her, but sometimes it’s hard because it’s like this every, single time without fail – phone, in person, even on email. But it can happen anywhere, even with people we don’t know.

A good friend of mine travels weekly for her job and stays in the same hotels, interacting with the same faces on each trip. She eats at the bar and is chummy with the bartenders, she’s a “regular” in these establishments. On her last trip she engaged with another gal at the bar who she sees frequently on her stays, and asked her how things were going. And that’s when it started.

The nameless familiar face proceeded to tell a long story about meeting someone special at that very bar six months earlier, in all its glorious detail. While my friend noted that she was a fun and interesting raconteur, other than asking my friend where she lived, the entire conversation was about her.

My friend enjoyed the woman’s story, but it got her thinking about what drives people in conversations. Do they want to share their story, or learn about ours? A bit of both? Or neither? Is it simply about connection, or is it about compassion or understanding? coffee

Even more curiously, how much do we want or need to share our stories with other people, especially people we don’t know? That’s a huge question for bloggers, or diarists, authors, writers, videographers and storytellers in general. Are we all storytellers? Social media is a giant vortex full of everyone’s stories, or any part of them we want to share.

Humans just want to be heard. So whether we are dealing with a naysayer when trying to be supportive, or we meet our match when being curious, or we simply just want to have an equal-footed dialogue with another person, the motto is be open. Because you just never know where the story will take you.


fairy stories

Carpe Diem Spring, Even If It Snows

13086886_1331990300148074_9011605865743538978_oIt was only supposed to be a dusting. A light dusting of spring snow would grace the northern frontier where we live, simply to seal the deal that Mother Nature is in charge. No matter what goes on in the tangible world, she’s the ultimate boss.


I knew that as I watched the snow start as a gentle and glittery drop, then get heavier and heavier until it pulled down the awning over our deck. We got more than a dusting, several inches in fact. Damn the weatherman. And curse the damp cold. I haven’t been warm since last summer, and feel well overdue for some sunshine-sparked heat.

Then I remembered I’m working on something that’s supposed to help change my life. The power of abundant thinking. I’m a fan of Deepak Chopra’s 21-day meditations, I can’t seem to meditate on my own. So every night I get into bed, put on my headphones, settle in and click play. Sir Husband does it too, he chose the abundance series this round, which is turning out to be quite good.

13087754_10153807189023929_6307806454026188337_nSo as I watched the snow fall throughout the grey day, I had to change my mind – from hating that it’s still winter when we’re four days away from May, to reveling in this snow globe fest going on outside the front door. It was a gosh darn jubilee.

Today I behold all the abundance that surrounds me, says my spiritual guide.

And out I went mid-afternoon to behold exactly that – the abundance that surrounded me. I was actually going to pick up my son from school because he hates the bus. Pretty nice of me on this blustery day, a virtual winter wonderland.

I unlocked the Jeep covered in snow and opened the back gate to dig around for the brush. The snow was falling hard but I had opted for just a coat. My hair quickly turned white and wet, the pelting snow stung my face. Weighty and thick, it was piled so high on top of the car I had to use a shovel to get it all down.

Ahhhh I’m loving this abundance I thought, as snow literally fell into my clothing and boots. I eeked out a word that sounded like this  *&@#$%^*!  before getting in the car, which I’m sure my cat heard as he sat in the window watching me from inside.

What’s so funny though about the whole thing, is that it actually made me laugh. Sure I was trying to mantra about nature’s brazen abundance, to appreciate its satiric off-season beauty in spite of my chill to the bone. Spring is more than the temperature, it’s a mindset, a renewal, a time to clean our figurative house and release old man winter’s soul. Guess he wasn’t quite ready to go.

The plows came around late in the day, just as the snow finally stopped. They must have been unexpectedly busy, and I wondered about their moods. As I listened to them move all the snow away, I logged in to my Chopra meditation library to read the message of the day, that accompanies each practice.

“You can become blind by seeing each day as a similar one. Each day is different…each day brings a miracle of its own. It’s just a matter of paying attention…”

Well thank you Mother Nature. You did your job today.

snowflake photo




(seagull image courtesy of Sea Bags, Portland, ME – check them out! )





How Many Spoons Does It Take To Have Lunch With A Friend?

rrgMost people enjoy meeting a friend for lunch, especially when the view is extraordinary and we enjoy our friend’s company. I thought that sitting at the elegantly-set table facing the sun-splashed ocean would take me down a few notches but it didn’t. I actually had to work at allowing myself to take the time to do something I didn’t have the energy to do, which when you think about it is ridiculous. It’s just lunch with a friend.

But my morning had gotten away from me, like most mornings do. I don’t know why this happens. I put my feet on the floor every morning with the best intentions that today is the day I will accomplish with ease, something meaningful or valuable. I’d even settle for manageable. It’s not like I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment.

The morning routine isn’t tough – brush teeth, make bed, fold laundry, feed cats, unload dishwasher, make coffee, send husband on his way, check email, social media, and then with bowl of cereal in one hand and coffee in the other – start writing my blog or whatever freelance assignment I have.

I don’t know what happens after that – morning blurs by and all of a sudden it’s midday and I’m not even showered. Not that there’s a rule that says I have to be presentable by any specific time. But I felt pushed to meet my friend, whose schedule is wide open. Her children are both away at school, her husband at work, she can enjoy most days with ease.

My life is a bit more complicated, and has been for forever. So I thought about that this morning when I pushed back my lunch date to squeeze in a few minutes of yoga. That’s when I do my best breathing, moving, and mental detoxing, and I tried to sort out why I run out of all my spoons before noon.

spoon fairyThe spoon theory is a genius concept created by a gal whose website is called “But you don’t look sick . com.”  It’s about what it feels like to only have a certain amount of energy each day, which for people with autoimmune disorders is often is used up before lunch. Her spoons represent daily tasks from getting up to getting dressed to basically anything and everything we do each day to exist. Each task or chore costs us a spoon, and if we only start with eight spoons a day, we may be out of energy long before lunch.

I have a love-hate relationship with this concept. I love it because that’s my whole life, and I hate it because that’s my whole life. I’m tired of having and identifying with the heavy fatiguing layers of fibromyalgia. I try and try to rid myself of this dis-ease once and for all, but I’m not sure my body will ever let it go. So I often just simply ignore it, until it catches up.

The clock was ticking away after my morning of unexpected meteorites – children who needed immediate help with important things for their life, blips with banking issues, computer crashes, and a flurry of other activities that although I accomplished in a hurry, left me teary from fatigue.

Why can’t I just relax and enjoy the moment? Because my invisible spoons were gone, and I still had the rest of the day to go. So I pulled myself up like I always do, and sat down with my friend. I took a deep breath and looked around, but noticed something odd. There weren’t any spoons on that lovely lunch table overlooking the sea. How ironic I thought when I noticed that, this must be the table for me.


making the best of life

Backing Off An Idle Fire Is The Best Choice For Moving Forward

You know you’re over the trauma and drama of your former marriage and life when you call your ex-husband to pick up your current husband who is stranded at a train station in another state and needs a ride home.

After a 15-hour day away and still two hours from home, Sir Husband called me from his comfy business-class seat on the commuter train to say the train had stopped. A brush fire too close to the tracks caused them to turn around and go back to a safer spot, which was fairly far from Sir Husband’s destination.

After nearly an hour of unknown resolution at a random station, I had to do some quick thinking to get my man back home. I was already in my pajamas after two hefty glasses of wine, so driving to get him was not particularly prudent. Mr. Ex was less than an hour away from where Sir Husband was, and was headed to our house the next morning at sunrise to pick up our son for plans they had that day. Seeing as how it was time for bed anyway, I asked Mr. Ex if he would pick up Sir Husband then crash on our couch, which would technically benefit everyone in the bigger picture.

Mr. Ex didn’t bat an eye, jumped in the car, and headed to the station. Sir Husband sucked it up and agreed to the plan. I made the couch into a bed, prepped the coffee pot for breakfast, and turned on the front porch light. Tick tock…tick tock…they arrived no worse for the wear.

We all get along, although I get eye rolls from some close to my past who remember the train wreck of my life with Mr. Ex. Sir Husband in particular, still sees the man who hurt his wife, and works hard to look beyond. I get that, a lot of damage was done in my former marriage, and can sometimes feel irreparable.

I’m not sure people really “get over” the horrible pains from their past, but come to accept them, learn to live with them as part of their history, and move forward from them. Skeletons in the closet is a legitimate concept, and occasionally they may come out and whack us with their bones. But at this particular time, none of that mattered. We don’t have the energy or desire to focus on it anymore…or perhaps my trauma-based amnesia actually does some good.

Do people really change? Maybe, maybe not. But if they change enough so that interaction is tolerable or do-able, then so-be it. I have to say I have seen Mr. Ex come full circle. From his adolescent roots through years of nasty addiction, abusiveness, recovery, and now a complacent calm with his own new Mrs., she’s done wonders for the man I think, a much more compatible mate.

As I stood in the hallway before heading up to bed, I saw Mr. Ex out of my right eye in our living room, and Sir Husband out of my left eye in our dining room, and I was overcome with the strangest immense feeling of love for Sir Husband. After a soulful union late in the making, it was overwhelmingly clear that life was now as it should be.

If I had only listened to my then-best-friend-now-husband when we were 20…stopped my train and turned around. It only took three decades, but I made it through the fire.



The Answer To Our Prayers Is In Many Hands

prince“Every song was either a prayer or foreplay.”

Prince’s stylist Michaela Angela Davis referred to the music genius’ ability to negotiate God and sex in his music the way no one had heard before.

Hours before the announcement of his death, I wrote a blog about prayer, which I’m posting as is, overflowing with the universal feeling of the power of prayer.

Dearly beloved… we are gathered here today… to get through this thing called life…


Ok party people.

I don’t know why I said that, I just like the term “party people.”

We are feeling a bit celebratory at the moment, like things on the horizon look good.

For those who know us, this is a super huge deal. Sir Husband and I have been through the ringer – feel free to peruse back in the blog. There are 850-some posts that explain a whole heck of a lot. Without going into detail here let me just say this.

prayingIf you ever believed in the power of prayer, we could use that now. This isn’t about a kick-starter campaign or even life and death. This is about a hard-working man, backed by a super-strong woman, who together (although I hate to take any credit) may have something to show for it.

Sir Husband is about to embark on a hopefully touchable dream. That’s why I’m publicly pleading now for the coupling of hands.

I don’t often directly ask for prayers, I’m not religious at all. I usually just peruse for support, and only from our closest friends. But this time it might be helpful if we open up the field, and ask the Powers That Be to please notice the bigger nudge. That phrase about moving mountains…or creating miracles…or footprints in the sand when the Divine is carrying us through? This request is kind of like that. Buddha prayer hands

It doesn’t matter what term we use – God, Spirit, Source, the Dude – we are all part of a bigger scene that is often referred to as “One.” That can sound a little scary sometimes, maybe we don’t want to be “one” with certain people – especially the ones we don’t like.

But for argument’s sake let’s just say that the whole “oneness” thing is real. I for one believe it, from an expanded spiritual perspective. I embrace all religions on a bigger scale, which involves everyone being part of who we all call “God.” A giant Divine unity.

meditation handsReligious leaders and teachings can be quite confusing. Religion itself can unintentionally misinterpret “one” for “same,” as in the same beliefs, practices, customs, concepts, ideologies – making us think that if we have differences in thought, we are not the same – instead we are different and separate. Spirituality invites us all to the same table regardless of our “faith,” because faith is carried within, and based on something huge – an infinite Divine source, or however we think of God.

Ok I suppose I could have just said Hey, if you believe in God, in whatever way you chose, could you please send up a few prayers for Sir Husband to receive some really good news? But with this request I also started thinking about what the power of prayer means, so I looked it up in the dictionary.

An earnest request. To hope or wish very much for something to happen. To seriously ask for something. To give thanks for something, even in advance. 

YES.  With that, I earnestly ask that we join together as one and give thanks in advance for Sir Husband’s dream to come true. With a little bit of luck and a whole lot of faith, we’ll be partying like it’s 1999.


Hold The Phone! What Am I Paying For?

iphoneI got a little taste of corporate marketing trickery when I called Verizon Wireless to ask where our free gig of data went. We had an extra free gig that was supposed to last all year, and I noticed on our bill it had disappeared.

“When you upgraded that promo went away,” she said, much to my surprise. We didn’t upgrade anything, except apparently we did. Sir Husband traded in his old iPhone 4S for a simple model 6. We’re on the same bill so they un-promo’d the data to give him his new gear. When I tried to understand this deal, I was a little worse for the wear.

The third-party call center gal proceeded to tell me that the “$99 upgrade” from the 4S to the 6 simply meant that we got $99 off the $649 phone and got to go on a payment plan over two years “interest free” to pay for the phone and cut the line access fee in half. And because we used that promo, we lost the free data gig.

vintage frustration

Say what?

That’s right. There are no simple terms to explain these obscure tricks. There’s no such thing as an upgrade promotion, it’s just a ploy to make us think we’re getting a good deal. The bottom line is that we pay a “smartphone” fee of $40 per month to own our phone number.  If we finance our phone for $20 a month, the smartphone fee is then only $20 each month. Um, correct me if I’m wrong, but that still equals $40. And we also had to pay a $99 downpayment.

See what I mean? The whole thing is ridiculous and honestly makes no sense, except to the giant wireless chiefs who sat around a conference room table and came up with the most convoluted, ambiguous way to get more money.

cell phone billsI reached out to my son who works at Apple, and understands this game. To make matters worse he explained, they change the wording and the plans so that it’s all different by the time you are out of your two-year term. “Welcome to corporate America Mom,” he said. “Phones aren’t really free anymore.”

Slightly less confused but still feeling like something was wrong with the math, I remember when I could sign a two-year contract and get a phone truly for $99. I guess those days are long gone and it kind of bums me out.

We feel a bit stuck now, especially where we live. There are barely any other carriers here, so we’re bound to our current lines, although I’m sure they’re all the same. Am I the only one who didn’t know about this whole cell phone fake-promo schtick?

I’m such a trusting soul who doesn’t bode well with math. I’m the dream customer for Verizon or the rest, because having a cell phone is mandatory. It’s the only phone I’ve got. It’s my connection to the world, in an emergency or not. Once they have you, you’re hooked anyway, and its use is up to you. But they don’t make it understandable beyond “close your eyes and pay,” which is what we do every month.

The jig is up, which is crazy. Here’s my number, call me maybe.



Marriage of My Dreams, In-Laws of My Nightmares

Should a mother-in-law be allowed in the delivery room? A roundtable discussion on the Today Show prickled up some spines. The answer is strictly personal, I had a couple of friends eating McDonald’s next to me when I delivered one of my boys. But my mother-in-law? No way. I’ve had two, neither of whom I adored. And the feeling is quite mutual, although the first one has since passed away.

All families have issues, sometimes personality mismatch is status quo. But occasionally it’s so extreme, defying all understanding, that we are left to assume there is some Divine lesson to be learned. Sir Husband and I pay attention to that. A few in our lives do not.

peas in a podEverybody’s got an in-law story, and they usually resonate the same: troublesome tale of two women and a poor man in the middle. But not in our case. We have three peas in a pod – Sir Husband’s mother, his ex and his sister united on a warpath of hatred and anger, against both him and me.

Many wives since the beginning of time use the old cliche, my mother-in-law is a piece of work. But can they say she disowned her son and his family because she loves her ex-daughter-in-law more and admits it? Ours is a wicked story of some unhappy fems who live from deep misery.

It goes something like this. A long time ago, a kind man with a good heart and sensible head lost his senses one day and on the rebound, married a woman he did not love. Shortly after they were married she revealed herself to be a broken soul, and manipulated him to the death to get anything she wanted.

He tried hard to stay with her, but his unhappiness grew. And his mother knew it too. She insisted he work even harder, so that is what he did. He never meandered out of their marriage, but longed for relief from his loveless misery so much that when he looked in the mirror every morning he hoped for cancer to die and get away. That’s pretty sad. Eventually he left. And his mother never forgave him.

That’s my mother-in-law. A not-so-lovely woman who decided that her son was not worth his own happiness. What kind of mother is that?

edgar allen poeBut that is only the beginning. I’ll leave out all the ugly gore – from hurt and harassment to helping alienate Sir Husband’s children from our lives – we now understand the meaning of “shunned.” No matter how hard we’ve tried to both communicate and understand, we are blatantly ignored and years later are still left shaking our heads.

So we’re done. At some point emotional toxicity just becomes too great, even when it’s family. We’ve worked hard to come to peace with it – nobody deserves this kind of treatment, especially from their own mother and in-law. It’s clear she’s got her own issues, that stem from something deep.

There are two great things that rule us. Love and fear. And we will do anything when under their spells. When people are triggered by their deepest fears they lash out, and project those fears onto the people who triggered them. It doesn’t excuse hurtful, hostile, abusive, violent actions, but it helps explain it. The problem is that living from fear comes with a terribly high price. Sir Husband’s father died of cancer at age 62.

I only knew my deceased father-in-law as the father of my high school best boy-friend a long time ago. Sir Husband and I go way back to years of really good times. In fact, we believe in angels, and think his father helped us reunite. We’re sure if he was still alive, he would welcome me now, and have some strong words with his wife.

It’s a shame my mother-in-law is so unhappy. And while we feel like we’ve lost some family, Sir Husband and I choose to live from love and not fear, which is infinitely a better spell.


025 bar jeffanddeb copy1


The Clothes Make the Man. Fashion Fiascos are Not Just For Women


In the early-morning rush of Sir Husband trying to make the train to Boston on marathon day – one of the busiest days of the year there – he had a clothing fiasco. He wasn’t going to run, or even celebrate local big deal Patriot’s Day. He was going to meet Princess Leia. Princess Leia1

That’s right. Star Wars Goddess and real human, on this very day Carrie Fisher was recipient of the Outstanding Lifetime Achievement Award in Cultural Humanism at Harvard University.

Sir Husband’s role? He was the press for Harvard at this event. He covers all kinds of things for them, so it wasn’t like this time was different, except for the part about Princess Leia, which let’s be real, is a cool gig.


So back to the clothing fiasco. It’s not that he didn’t know what to wear, although we joked for days about what the current Jedi attire might be. The problem is that what he hoped to wear turned out to be all wrong when he put it on. He thought he had figured it out the night before, but there were some hang ups at the last minute that caused a flurry and crunch.

IMG_1838What is the deal with men and their clothes? Either they don’t care at all, or they’re into the latest hip fashion like my stylish son, or they prefer classic function like my husband. His closet – full of Eddie Bauer-type tailored comfort – has three categories. Not right — Doesn’t fit — Too ratty.

Let me clarify. Not right includes the “too dressy” or “too schlumpy for this occasion” options. Doesn’t fit are the the too big or too small clothes from the ups and downs of the body’s fluctuating size. Too ratty needs to be dry cleaned or pressed, is worn out, faded, has holes or is coming unstitched.

I know for a fact women’s closets all have these categories to one degree or another, and even a few more. But women are more prepared for life’s sudden turn of events. We have one or two go-to outfits or pieces that will work in a pinch, or at the last minute. Why? Because we are smart shoppers.

fashion fairyWomen shop to buy and browse to buy. Men don’t. I don’t shop often, but if I find something on a great sale that I know I may need someday, or even want to have in the rotation, I buy it. But Sir Husband has a different m.o. Even if there’s a perfect something on sale for him, it’s always “I’ll get it later, I don’t need it today.” He even shoos me away from the rack.

Do men really just browse when browsing with their wives? More importantly, do they all ignore the special sale prices because they don’t need anything that day? Because I assure you the day will come that they wish it was there in their closet, ready to put on.

This was one of those days. Our bedroom looked like a man’s clothes hurricane at the crack of dawn. I didn’t realize that men even want the preparation process on an important day to be “get in and get out fast.”

He made it to the train on time, looking quite charming and good. But just between you and me, the clothes fairy is on her way.