A play, a fashion-state, and a chase

Last evening, I went to see a friend in a production of George Furth's "The Supporting Cast." The play is about a writer who pens a book using her friends as its characters... something I would know nothing about. It was a comedy of sorts and not one that I particularly cared for, but the cast did well and it was an enjoyable evening.

The day was preceded by some shopping at the Limerick Outlets and another quest for pants--completely in vain. At one point, at Ann Taylor, when the woman asked me if there was something she could help me with, I almost asked her where they hid the fat legged pants. Ann Taylor and Express used to be my fail safes, but no more as they, with everyone else, have followed the changing trend whereby if your thighs are the same size as your ankles, you can have your pick of pants, otherwise, for the rest of us, it will be the summer of skirts and dresses (and the swearing off of carbohydrates).

And, in between the two events, there was me, dressed for the theatre, crawling under the neighbors shrubs, trying desperately to keep my dress covering my ass while just as desperately, trying to recoup my hissing orange beast as a neighbor lady tries to carry on a conversation with me over how cute my kitty is and how she's seen him on her patio before. Meanwhile, the neighbor whose patio and shrubbery I was crawling about on stood in his window, holding his own hissing orange beast and laughing. It was quite a site and I swear, I was still finding shrub needles and pieces of cedar tree in my hair and dress when I got home last night.