siiiiiiick

Illness, day whatever:

Throat still hurts. A lot. Moving carefully so head does not come off. Mr. E has now got it as well. So far Rocket seems to have escaped; at least he's not crying & no fever.

How nursing is going: Mr. E changed him, handed him to me for feeding, we listened to the trumpeting sounds from his butt, Mr. E took him back for another change, looked at me, & said "He's heavier than when I handed him to you."

Well. Good. He is palpably heavier than when he was born, anyway.

This morning Mr. E woke me up after 2 hours of sleep to hand me a wailing, hungry baby. As I crankily nursed the baby, lying on my side, feeling exactly like a sow, he leaned over and murmured in my ear, "In the paper bag in the fridge are the last really good strawberries of the year. I got them yesterday. Eat some before our son gets them all."

Takeaway: "50 Shades" doesn't say dick about how to provide real pain and pleasure.

incidentally

Posted without comment:

By the time Diana Vreeland joined Harper's Bazaar in 1937 as a junior editor, handbags had become an integral and important part of the fashion business, as she would quickly learn. Shortly after she arrived at the august glossy, Vreeland had what she described in her memoir, D.V., as a "brainwave!"

"We're going to eliminate all handbags," she told a colleague.

"You're going to what?" he responded.

"Eliminate all handbags," she repeated. "Now look. What have I got here? I've got cigarettes, I've got my lipstick, I've got my comb, I've got my powder, I've got my rouge, I've got my money. But what do I want with a bloody old handbag that one leaves in taxis and so on? It should all go into pockets. Real pockets, like a man has, for goodness sake."

Then Vreeland explained how she wanted to devote an entire issue of the venerable fashion magazine to "showing what you can do with pockets and how the silhouette is improved and so on."

Her colleague ran from her office - "the way you run for the police!" she recalled - straight to Harper's Bazaar editor Carmel Snow.

"Diana's going crazy!" he cried. "Get hold of her."

Snow went to see Vreeland.

"Listen, Diana," Snow told Vreeland, "I think you've lost your mind. Do you realize that our income from handbag advertising is God knows how many millions a year?!"

- Deluxe: How Luxury Lost its Luster, by Dana Thomas

"Thanks. It has pockets!" - every girl ever responding to a compliment on a skirt/dress that has pockets

- Tumblr/Twitter, attribution unknown