Colleen and I cleaned the closet today, because it was getting difficult to climb the pile of stuff in the middle of the floor in order to get to dresses or jackets. So, in case you don't have anything better to do with your Saturday, you could swing by our local Salvation Army and take a look at every single piece of clothing I have owned (not necessarily worn) since the mid-nineties. Ignore the fact that we moved here in 1999. I'm pretty sure I moved most of the crap and still didn't wear it.
Five little evening purses. More tote bags than I can count. A pink purse that I apparently paid $23.50 for even though it isn't that pretty. An inexplicable vial of Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds perfume (when were either my sister or I a 70-year-old woman?).
Oh. Lord. The velvet. We could clothe most of Ozaukee County with velvet.
But it's okay. Because I've spent most of today replaying all of Ewan McGregor's scenes from Angels and Demons in my mind. Most notably the one where he gets all crazy and rips off his Roman collar. The rest of the movie was pretty mediocre, but I was fangirling like crazy for him. Even if his "Northern Irish" accent was laughable when it was actually occuring and otherwise, he just sounded Scottish. Whatever. He's pretty. I'm off to watch Star Wars.