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Clearly, Baby J wishes he could be raised by cats. All evening he has whined and acted irate. Nothing would appease him. Not food. Not comfort. Not even What Not to Wear. (Okay, that was my own solution, since we're trying to drink less wine.)

And yet, now he is sitting on Freckles' lap, laughing contentedly to himself because the cat is walking around beneath him, and will, every couple of minutes, deign to be petted.

I'm totally having one of those moments where you just kind of have to decide, "wow, I just got upstaged by a cat." And you kind of just have to go with it, because everyone else is. Now, if only they could pay the bills.

On a side note, what exactly is it about What Not to Wear? It's the same thing every single week. All that changes is Stacy London's completely fantastic wardrobe. And yet, I can't look away. I even watch it on OnDemand while Baby J is napping. I can't get enough.

Although now, when I go out, I look for camera crews in trepidation. I had a moment the other day in Michael's, when I got really scared after catching a glimpse of myself in a store window. I totally knew how those people felt when they say, "but I was only running to the store!" But then, the beauty of the show is, I looked around me and realized that actually I was one of the better dressed people in the store. It must be hard to be Stacy and Clinton. So many issues and so little time. It's like teaching, only with lots of money and fantastic outfits.

Continuing on with my free-association tonight, I'm trying to pack for Oregon, and I'm faced with a dilemma. One or two great pieces that I wear over and over and over and over... or lying to airport security about the weight of my bags? It's hard to decide, and I'm a really bad liar.

I give up.

On a positive note, I have finally forgiven myself for throwing a glass of water at the cat this afternoon when he refused to vacate the bathroom.

Furry bastard has it easy.