What Are You Wearing?

Then you will love this.

When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo'd by anxiety,
I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety;
For your brain is on fire and the bedclothes conspire of your usual slumber to plunder you:
First your counterpane goes, and uncovers your toes, and your sheet slips demurely from under you;
Then the blanketing tickles, you feel like mixed pickles so terribly sharp is the pricking,
And you're hot, and you're cross, and you tumble and toss till there's nothing 'twixt you and the ticking.
Then the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you pick 'em all up in a tangle;
Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its usual angle!
Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot eyeballs and head ever aching.
But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that you’d very much better be waking;

For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a steamer from Harwich,
Which is something between a large bathing machine and a very small second-class carriage;
And you're giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a party of friends and relations,
They're a ravenous horde, and they all came on board at Sloane Square and South Kensington Stations.
And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that morning from Devon);
He's a bit undersized, and you don't feel surprised when he tells you he's only eleven.
Well, you're driving like mad with this singular lad (by the by, the ship's now a four-wheeler),
And you're playing round games, and he calls you bad names when you tell him that "ties pay the dealer";
But this you can't stand, so you throw up your hand, and you find you're as cold as an icicle,
In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks), crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle:
And he and the crew are on bicycles too, which they've somehow or other invested in,
And he's telling the tars all the particulars of a company he's interested in,
It's a scheme of devices, to get at low prices all goods from cough mixtures to cables
(Which tickled the sailors), by treating retailers as though they were all vegetables:
You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take off his boots with a boot-tree),
And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and they'll blossom and bud like a fruit-tree,
From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea, cauliflower, pineapple, and cranberries,
While the pastrycook plant cherry brandy will grant, apple puffs, and three corners, and Banburys,
The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by Rothschild and Baring,
And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder despairing...

You're a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no wonder you snore, for your head's on the floor,
and you've needles and pins from your soles to your shins, and your flesh is a-creep, for your left leg's asleep,
and you've cramp in your toes, and a fly on your nose, and some fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue,
and a thirst that's intense, and a general sense that you haven't been sleeping in clover;

But the darkness has passed, and it's daylight at last, and the night has been long
ditto my song
and thank goodness they're both of them over!

 

this is never a phrase i've considered using for a porn search... but i did google it after your post and interestingly, it brings up a lot of stuff about going commando at the gym.

 

That’s hilarious!!!

 

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

 

You can just look up the "sans everything" and find an 80 year old girl without any teeth.

 

I had to learn that by heart back in high school.
We all had to, but I was the only one that actually did it.

 

Those were the days.
I had to learn TS Elliot's "The journey of the magi"

'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins,
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

 

Yes, if English is your first language

 

Phew!!

 

Sorry
‘Scuse me
I believe I walked into the wrong room

 

My admiration goes to the opera singers who have to be fluent in so many languages in order to express the true feeling of the moment.
The way that Anna Netrebko captures that hopeful while so sad moment in Puccini's 'Butterfly' is truly awesome.

 

Suddenly
A small contingent of men
Suddenly
And uniformly utter
“Hmmmmmmm”

 

Plaid. My only truly plaid shirt is being ugly with my faded H&M slim fit jeans. lol

 

One fine day you'll find me
A thread of smoke arising on the sea
In the far horizon
And then the ship appearing
Then the trim white vessel
Glides into the harbour
Thunders forth her cannon
See you? Now he is coming
I do not go to meet him
Not I
I stay upon the brow of the hill
And wait there
And wait for a long time
But never weary of the long waiting
From out the crowded city
There is coming a man in the distance
Climbing the hill
Chi sarà? chi sarà?
E come sarà giunto
Che dirà? che dirà?
He will call, "Butterfly" from the distance
I, without answering
Hold myself quietly concealed
A bit to tease him

One fine day you'll find me
A thread of smoke arising on the sea
In the far horizon
And then the ship appearing

This will all come to pass as I tell you
Banish your idle fears
For he will return
I know
I know he will return

Sadly, in the final scene of the opera, Butterfly gives up hope and kills herself moments before he returns.

 

Stripey tshirt, black trackies, teal coloured zip up jacket, black all day socks, light blue ugg boots

 

Eh
Black pants
White button down shirt

 

A boring retail “uniform”
Chino’s
Black monogrammed polo
Doc Martens
White cotton panties
White structure bra
(snorrrrrre)

 

Steel toe caps worn out

 

Very sexy

 

We were just talking about steel-toed boots at my dietitian appointment yesterday! She said that she weighed a guy with his steel-toes on and that they add five lbs.