Today we worked in the 'We proudly serve' Starbucks coffee shop at the main building of the Blue Ridge Assembly YMCA. Ila and I got there early to practice making tall drinks for staff members. There is a little book with the recipes so in no time at all I felt pretty comfortable whipping up Caramel Machiotos & the ilk. I was whipping up a tall 'skinny' Vanilla Latte, when one of the Y's business women, came to our window, and spying me, asked, "You're wearing a men's shirt?"
That was rather a point of shame for me, as they don't have women's shirts that aren't tight enough to qualify me for a wet T-shirt contest, so I had to settle for a men's shirt; it fits, but it hangs half way down my thighs. I nodded & the lady chilled her stare down about 30 more degrees Fahrenheit.
"Then you will need to tuck your shirt in."
Does anything strike more fear in my little heart than wearing a shirt tucked in? Tucking in makes my stomach look like a Gernsey cow's and my butt look as broad as Brazil. I had two choices - I could aquess, tuck in my shirt and suffer 2 weeks of shame, or...I sucked up my courage and announced with as much conviction as I could,
"No M'am. I will not tuck in my shirt."
The lady's eyebrows rose sharply.
"I just can't do that, and I won't do that."
|Claire, who prefers going |
'untucked', no reference to Ru Paul
The lady's face clouded over, as if a storm were brewing more at a pace more rapid than the espresso machine.
I blurted out, "I'll just tuck the shirt under so it doesn't hang as long."
She glowered a second, then - nodded in agreement.
Oh, thank heavens! When the [censored] left the shop, the other ladies in the shop congratulated me on my bold act of civil disobedience. They could relate to the horror of a tucked in shirt. I don't often stand up for myself, but when I do, it's 'me tuck? No, tuck you!'
Enough talk of our volunteer work at the Y. Back over to our cabin, how about dem birdies? I have been tickled with the bird activity at the new bird feeder I bought and hung on the porch of our cabin. No soon was the feeder hung, then the local birdies came zooming in to nick goodies.
|Right off the bat, Chickadees (Black-capped? Carolinas?) and Tufted Titmouse flew in for food|
|Nice look at a Tufted Titmouse, the southern cousin of the Oak Titmouses in my California back yard|
|Hurrah! A pretty little Blue-headed Vireo|
|UP, UP, and Away!|