Short sleeve sweaters is a thing I don't understand. If I'm cold enough to wear a sweater, my arms are cold too.

I feel the same way about tank top turtlenecks. If it's hot enough to wear a tank top, then I don't want extra fabric around my neck. Well, I don't want extra fabric around my neck any time, because turtlenecks feel like I'm being strangled, but even high-necked things are not for hot weather.

I can put contact paper on the closet shelves while I'm medicated. The shelves come off, so I can do it sitting down, and I'll feel like I'm accomplishing something. I've already contact-papered most of the kitchen drawers and shelves. I just really really hate putting stuff on bare wood. It feels icky.

Love all of it, Zen! And, man, I would've loved some freckled Barbies when I was a kid.

I use short-sleeved sweaters in a probably delusional effort to draw attention away from my gut.

I was forced to own a Barbie-like doll, because of the number of girls who wanted to play Barbie. I finally gave in and got a Midge doll. [link]

Freckles! But creepy eyes.

Not as creepy as Barbie.

Short sleeve sweaters is a thing I don't understand. If I'm cold enough to wear a sweater, my arms are cold too.

I have a vintage short sleeve cashmere sweater, so I guess my answer would be late fall (or early winter for the Californians), when it's cold enough that sleeves are warranted and scarves can be worn for fashion without creating heat rash, but actual warmth is not required. Tank top turtlenecks, on the other hand, are an abomination.

My DH just recently bought a jacket only to discover that it had a zippered inner sweater dickie . We both were like buh?!? Is this a thing? So we returned it.

Coming in late to say congrats to Sheryl and Gary! You will be marvelous parents to a lucky baby.

and YAY NEW BUFFISTA SPROG!!!

A friend of mine had a bad week. I'll bet you can tell his nationality. ==================================================
My Week
We have a machine that doesn’t do anything in our hallway, and the night before my last lecture it stopped working. When it’s working it does nothing so quietly you wouldn’t know it was there, but when something’s wrong with it, it signals its distress with a continual squeak, best heard in the bedroom. Anyway, we blearily coughed up $155 to have it fixed with a new battery the next day and now it is absolutely quiet again. Money well spent.

Yesterday we went to the post-office and [Redacted] had her purse nicked. She hardly had time to cancel all her cards before some lovely policemen returned it. Turns out post offices, like nearly everywhere else, have CCTV. CCTV clearly doesn’t stop crime, but it does help double the pain. [Redacted] has no credit cards for five to ten working days and some hapless tea-leaf out there has had to watch her hastily concocted cover story undone, in high resolution and to the last detail, on one of the tablets our sterling constabulary carry around with them in case of just such gratifying occasions.

Did give my last lecture on Wednesday, but The Squeakatron had left me too tired to celebrate. I’d celebrate today, with beer, horse-racing and demotic argot, but I do that every Saturday, so the celebration’ll have to wait.

We have our last baby class this morning, followed by a tour of the maternity ward of the hospital.