But today I got a nightgown I've been wanting since I was 10 years old. Perhaps since I was 8: that is, when I was 8, I wanted this kind of nightgown when I grew up, and when I was 10, I decided I was grown up enough to want it. (I was the height I am now, and nearing the cup size I am now at an alarming rate, and I thought that should have some privileges. And dammit, it should have.) It's very light cotton, long and white and has just ribbon straps at the shoulders. It floats. It will likely wrinkle at the merest thought. But it's...umm...all standing-at-the-casements like. You could be kidnapped by the Fair Folk in such a nightgown.
(I probably wouldn't be. Being myself, I would probably have the luck to be kidnapped by the Fair Folk in my glasses and one of my old physics department T-shirts, the ones that have been washed into softness and barely cover my butt and prominently feature a large psi on each nipple, having been designed by -- go figure -- male members of the department. I have never once heard of an Underhill kidnapping wherein they put an intended changeling back because her butt was insufficiently covered. Nor even because her garment did not waft. Still, though.)
And it was on sale, and I was ordering a bra anyway. (Which I will wash on delicate cycle, and hope for the best.) And I'd asked for it before, but nobody really seemed to understand that this was my nightgown. In the past, I've written on a birthday list "[item] LIKE I'VE ASKED FOR THE LAST FIVE BIRTHDAYS" or something of the sort, since people don't seem to notice the same items repeating each year. Or timprov likes to give me The Last Present, in case there's something I wanted but didn't get, but this has usually meant books or maybe other media.
So I got myself my nightgown, and I will flitter around in it tonight and tomorrow morning and be all romantical and happy, and next time you think not a scrap, well...maybe a scrap.
And if you think I'm on about my new nightgown because I don't want to write this stupid damned synopsis or my new Chapter 2, shame on you. Shame, I say! You're right, but shame anyway, for thinking the worst of me.