Yes, That Was Me . . .

Instead of Not Me Monday, I’ll just confess . . .

Yes, that was me, dashing into Burlington Coat Factory, grabbing a shirt off the rack so I could use the dressing room as a private spot to nurse my baby in the mall.

And yes. It was a blindingly-yellow Rocawear t-shirt with gold sparkles all over it (hey, that was the closest rack to the dressing room).

And yes, I said ‘no’ half an hour later, when the attendant asked if that shirt “worked for me.”

And yes, there was another woman with her stroller standing outside waiting, when I came out of the handicapped dressing room . . . I wondered what she was trying on . . .

———-

Yes, that was me, roasting marshmallows on a fork over my gas burner last night.

I was craving toasted marshmallows–ohhhh, I was craving them! Maybe even more than the marshmallows, I was wishing I were sitting around a campfire in the mountains somewhere in North Carolina. . . those were the days . . .

And yes, that was me, biting the marshmallow. Right. Off. The glowing fork! Might as well have stuck my tongue with a hot poker.

ARGH! Took care of that craving. And all others, quite frankly.