I'll choose to call this morning crisp, not chilly, given it's pleasantly sunny and green. I'll not deign to call it glorious, however. Oh, wait, that's right, I'm supposed to not tempt the weather gods. Then I take it back, I take it back immediately. A glorious morning, quite worthy of praise. (And it is, in all seriousness; despite my chilly, bumbling-as-I-type fingers, I actually feel my oats on a sunny, crisp - not frigid, mind you, just crisp - day, whereas I wilt and suffer on a hot, sultry one.) How high maintenance am I? Cool, not cold; warm, not hot; delicious, not decadent; reserved, not repressed; assertive, not aggressive. On and on and on. If aiming for moderation in all things makes one high maintenance, then that's what I am, I guess, even though high maintenance people (bitches AND bastards) send me. Get over yourself! (Says The High Maintenance Moderate Epicurean. Ha.)
Groceries. Laundry. Cleaning. Cooking. An exercise in housewifery is required of me today. An exercise of the body is as well, I'd say a crisp day such as this calls for a stroll around the 'hood.
(My apologies, Honey, I just ate the leftover quiche for lunch. I usually leave quiche/frittata/omelet/souffle-type leftovers for John, but I could not resist. With a teeny bit of creme fraiche. And half of a Bay's English muffin. Prrrrr...)

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