This Was My Weekend

Every few years I come back to this book which makes me ask if I made a mistake by not making a commitment with my own collector of Americana instead of holding out hope for what was vaguely waiting around the edges but gone by the time I had moved to the edge.

Though I am fond of hats, I don't plan to meet a bitter end by swallowing mercury at a millinery shop, but someone lurking around the edges doesn't even seem possible at this stage. However, like Miss Bart's Aunt Julia, I can become very upset when the front blinds are lowered at unequal lengths.

And just my luck to become a trust fund kid just when trust funds are so unworthy of trust. Other than that, life is perfection. Thanks for asking.