CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- It's Saturday morning in the Christmas shopping season, and I'm still in bed at 9 a.m. Nothing serious, just NIGHT SWEATS have me up pacing the floors and turning the heat down to 60 degrees.
It's also an inability to get up and face the dishes.
But since I have an ESPRESSO MAKER at my bedside for those 5:30 a.m. school mornings, I'll be up in a few minutes.
("Don't run the trucks in the hall. Don't touch the banister. Don't touch the remote.")
So I throw on my zebra bathrobe and my Tod's ballet slippers and head to Tudor's Biscuit World.
Tod's ballet slippers are not designed for a woman who wears size-10 shoes, whose feet have spread due to consecutive pregnancies and old age. But if I see anyone I know, I will just say, "Good morning! Look at my Tod's ballet slippers!" And hope they don't notice my nightgown and bathrobe.
But this is Milton, so the chances of seeing anyone I really know are fairly remote.
I am not worried about being stopped by the fuzz in my nightgown. The cops see me getting the papers in my nightgown every day and hauling out the trash, so they couldn't care less -- not a biggie.
But the minute I get into the car, I smell something.
No, it's not JUST dirty tennis clothes and old diapers and petrified Happy Meals with burger patties you can throw like a discus. It's something else.
My husband likes to have a certain amount of cash squirreled away for himself alone, which he hides and "accidentally forgets" to mention to me or deposit in the bank. But I am an excellent detective, and my nose is without equal. I can even smell checks in the mail -- before they arrive.