Is that bathroom remodel done YET? And how much tiramisu can you eat in 24 hours?

A.  Bathroom remodel is complete, but bathroom looks like a model home before staging: bare.   Hence, the reveal is delayed.  Except for this:

Jerry taped paper over the window for a little privacy.

A. Two large servings and two small within 24 hours of Christmas dinner.   No picture available.

Q.  Why are you showing us a tied-up box of See's candy?
A.  My sister tied it up to prevent me from eating the remaining chocolates so I could offer them to Food Pantry clients on Monday.

Q.  Why is there another picture of a tied-up See's candy box?
A.  Because I cut the knotted-up ribbon and ate two pieces.   See lower right where snip occurred. And below, post-snip:

 Two chocolates missing.

 Q.  Why ANOTHER picture?
 A.  Because I knotted the ribbon again.

 Q.  How many people think I won't eat more chocolates before 1 pm tomorrow?

Looking for Something to Want

So, with the construction dragging on, I've become a slobbette who unhooks her bra as soon as the workmen leave and settles in her chair to binge on "Income Property."  (Canadians!  They all say "hoose.")

I'm supposed to be getting a Christmas list together for my sister and Jerry, because we like sitting in the living room on Christmas Day opening a small pile of gifts and joking around.  But I've been useless coming up with anything, although I've looked:

I even went online to Nordstrom to see if there's yet another robe Jerry could get me to replace the ancient $20 robe from Target that can't be beat (he loves Nordstrom's 800-number ladies, very helpful, AND they gift wrap).  Plus magazines, newspapers, Amazon.  Here's what I found:

Scented is big:

 Especially this--scented sticks.  Very big.

Watches are big:

Dopey sweaters are still  big. (Can you see Jerry in this?):

This caught me off-guard--am I the only one?

Also everywhere:  cashmere sweaters and scarves.  Everyone but me  likes these (scratchy!).

I found things I can't imagine wanting, like a sleeve for a succulent:

And a green tag that says you eat plants:

Why?

Sometimes the copy was the best part:

Infinitely on trend?   

Finally, I came up with a very short list which I'm going to give you right now, in case you are casting about for things you don't need but would like.  Otherwise, skip it.  I don't want to add to the pressure.

A quilt book
A travel umbrella
A Streetwise plastic map of Paris (swear by them)
Bobbi Brown eye cream (trying to offset encroaching hagdom)
A Mighty Bright book light
Also, more in the Jerry budget:  A Le Creuset grill pan, big enough for two, because we're too cheap (and daunted) to buy an actual grill.

In the meantime,  look who I got to sit on the toilet parked in my studio:

Yes, Mr. Adorable visited last weekend and was open to being bribed into posing for a picture.  (He chose a Tootsie Roll Pop over a See's sucker--no accounting for tastes.)

Hanging Out in an Old Robe for Sanity's Sake

$20 at Target years ago

Yesterday I got up whenever the hell I wanted for the first time in six days.  I flung open the bedroom door: no workers.  I didn't brush my hair, put on a lick of lipstick, nothing, nada.  Just me in my hag suit: robe, socks, and slippers.  I hung out in this outfit until 1 pm.  Bliss.

We had two tile guys here even on Thanksgiving Day.  The painter is chomping at the bit now that my sister and I have chosen the paint color ("Frappe").  The contractor is doing the finish carpentry work today and tomorrow.

Here's what the bathroom looks like:

N

Not very gratifying, is it?  The cabinet, vanity, medicine cabinet, and counters are all there but covered in cardboard ("protection").  

Here's the shower, which has required days of work by the tile guys:

The niche for shampoo and soap yet to be finished.  I think of it as the "shrine."

The closet in my studio is ready for a coat of paint and then installation next week of Elfa shelves and rods for double-hung clothes.

In the meantime, my studio itself has become a parking lot for everything that's been taken out of closets:

Nightmare

Just one day of hanging out in my robe in my entirely private house was luxury.  I puttered.  I caught up.   But by 7:30 last night, my sister was sending e-mails about towel racks and lighting fixtures, and the painter called at 7:58 this morning.  No robe-time until next weekend.