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Finally, an explanation I can live with
Color me flabergasted. I'll set the scene:
I'm slowly moving about the house getting it ready for the dedication ritual later tonight. I'm not stressing because my dear friend Ruth gave me great advice about not getting all OCD over the state of the house (which can clearly be summed up as being somewhere between "dear Gods don't let my mother drop by unannounced" and "the govenor has called out the state guard"). I'd just lit our ambiance candles, otherwise known around here as "element candles for dummies", and set the CD player to play "The Hunt for Red October" soundtrack softly in the background and returned to the living room.
Danielle stares. Josh stares. They stare some more. Finally she speaks: "You should wear stuff like that more often". I look down confused. I'm wearing a brick red GE golf shirt I got from my mother, a pair of jeans I've snatched from the hubby's closet severely belted because they are too big and my Yule mocassins. "You mean preppy shit like golf shirts?" I ask. She nods, hubby nods, I'm confused. "Why?"
"They make you look yummy" was the unanimous response. Realization creeps up on me with all the subtlety of a Friday night hookup. Oh dear Gods - I'm the Preppy Priestess.
*headdesk*
I'm slowly moving about the house getting it ready for the dedication ritual later tonight. I'm not stressing because my dear friend Ruth gave me great advice about not getting all OCD over the state of the house (which can clearly be summed up as being somewhere between "dear Gods don't let my mother drop by unannounced" and "the govenor has called out the state guard"). I'd just lit our ambiance candles, otherwise known around here as "element candles for dummies", and set the CD player to play "The Hunt for Red October" soundtrack softly in the background and returned to the living room.
Danielle stares. Josh stares. They stare some more. Finally she speaks: "You should wear stuff like that more often". I look down confused. I'm wearing a brick red GE golf shirt I got from my mother, a pair of jeans I've snatched from the hubby's closet severely belted because they are too big and my Yule mocassins. "You mean preppy shit like golf shirts?" I ask. She nods, hubby nods, I'm confused. "Why?"
"They make you look yummy" was the unanimous response. Realization creeps up on me with all the subtlety of a Friday night hookup. Oh dear Gods - I'm the Preppy Priestess.
*headdesk*
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And, I love the soundtrack for Hunt for Red October... it's in my top 5 of all time!
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I adore the Hunt, I figure every temple needs a large group of men chanting in the background in a foreign language!
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Better a Preppy Priestess than a Witchier-Than-Thou Priestess. Gods save me from one more pseudo-medieval dress from the Pyramid catalog!
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Hey, now, I like the Pyramid Catalog - but not as ritual wear!
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Can I mooch a sound track one day too? :D
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I need more coffee.
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The whole thing was so wild because it was clothes I'd tossed on to prepare the Temple, with every intention of putting on a plain white robe before ritual began. Typically I wear what I call hippy clothes, so they aren't used to me in preppy stuff.