When I sat down to write, it was raining, and I was tempted to invoke Rainy Day Rules. According to those rules, real life is suspended, and I can do whatever I want, i.e. read, nap, watch reruns, order from QVC, eat sweet and salty treats.
Rainy Day Rules? Yes, it’s a real thing. Sorry if you didn’t know. And maybe its a real thing for me because I’m retired. To be specific, I used to go to work, and now I just work. That seems as close to retired as a woman ever gets.
Unfortunately, my dirty laundry would not yield to the RDR. My husband, Q, told me he had no clean jeans. He is not retired, so he needed pants. I do not need pants. More evidence that I am retired.
Just so you know, I do not go around pants-less. When clean laundry is at a minimum, I wear pj’s. A perk of being retired. Although, I have seen young people in Walmart and at the Mini-Merc in pj’s, and I doubt they are retired. Perhaps they are living by rules I don’t know. I will not judge.
The Rainy Day Rules give me a legitimate excuse to be lazy, to loll about, to fall off the wagon of git ’er done. Sometimes, they give me some space to just slow down and ponder–to relax and let my mind and body rest.
I guess it’s just a good thing I don’t live in Seattle.