Since moving into our current abode, the “bonus room” above the garage — really a bedroom with closet (over the garage) — has been my “man cave”. Except for this Krystyna Marie, it has really been my “femme spa”. I keep my femme clothing here in the closet, my shoes, boots, accessories (!), my lingerie in a spare bedroom chest of drawers, well, you get the picture. And it is upstairs ( a real climb if you don’t really want to be up here in the first place). Especially every other Monday night, for we schedule the housekeeper to come every two weeks on Tuesday. I usually have the femme spa in a clutter by the time the second Monday rolls around, so Monday evening each fortnight is my excuse, er, my opportunity to “straighten up” the upstairs. I make up my bed, put away my cosmetics strewn about the counter, straighten the towels on the rack, stow my trusty razor and shave cream, lock up my paraphernalia of all kinds, air the place out, oh and I dress up like a fiend. I usually smoke some bowls of homegrown, strap on a favorite bra — tonight, black lace 40D ( a perfect fit, I need to order more), mount atop some high heels (tonight, Amerati® Flower, sz 13. I know, but almost a custom fit 13 – it’s the brand, I tell myself. After all, the Clark’s (bendables) sandals are 11M, and they are breaking-in nicely, thank you, a great fit and truly wonderful (!!!) shoes)). Tonight I picked a batch of fresh, and dried it while attending to my evening chores.
So I’m straightening up the femme spa in black 3-1/2″ heels, and my newest wardrobe addition, some summer ‘daisy duke’ jeans shorts. I took my trusty, but very holey-kneed Lee blue jeans, 36-30 (my waist is now about 31, getting fit-ter) and cut them off to just above the knee so I could work in the yard en drab comfort. I took another pair and tried my hand at cutting some daisy dukes, resulting in a cute, but rather obscene set of too-loose around my upper thigh and floppy at the butt mini-shorts, versus sexy, hot short-shorts. Damn my former fat assed ways, and my lack of seamstressing abilities. One excuse is that my old pants are all too wide to be sexy like I feel.
Anyway, my cut-above-the-knee-first-trys had me wanting to pull them up to my true waist and cinch them there so that they were tightly cradling my tush. I was thinking about my shorts this evening when it hit on me to roll up the legs, and I might get the look I am seeking. Sure e-dam-nuf, if that didn’t do the trick. (*) I rolled them up neatly, twice, and suddenly they were modestly rolled up to where the legs come together in the middle. Perfect. And they hit me in front and back a little risque-ly above the most developed area of my upper thigh. Ohh, purrrfect. Here I sit, it’s nearly bedtime, and I have to stow my stash, like right now. nyt!
Kisses, kisses — KM
(*)BTW, my hypothesis is that you can thank my Michigan-Virginia-southern Virginia-Carolina life experiences for the “amalgamidiom”, above. I can’t really tell you where that expression came from. It sounds like something I’ve heard someone say around here in NC, but can’t imagine who it would have been, if you know what I mean. Oh, and I just coined a word I think. It is henceforth defined, by Krystyna Marie, as an idiom that has its origin in an amalgamation, or mixture of idioms of several sources, whether regional, cultural, ethnic, religious, local, familial, or whatever. I use the term “idiom” in my definition as that word is defined here. I love Merriam-Webster dot com.