  The Golden Boy recently said that he would like to have a shirt with French Cuffs. You know, the kind of dress shirt that requires beautiful manly cuff links. Cherie, I beg to differ. I happen to have a lovely white stretchy dress shirt, that I wore for the first time today. It is not itsy bitsy or teeny weeny, it is tailored and stylish and each cuff has a pair of cuff link type holes, done up with two buttons tied together. In a foolish attempt to preserve the pristine condition of my beautiful, new, white blouse, I rolled up my sleeve at lunch today. This involved undoing the lovely cuff-link type cuffs. It is time to go home and I would like to look as little like the sectretly slobby, messy person that I really am. I want to do up my cuffs again. Subsequently, I have spent that past 20 minutes fiddling, nay, flailing in a "where's those padded walls that are so dear? " sort of manner while I try and slot a button through two layers of material at a 180 to the hand that must do the slotting. Or slutting, however you'd like to say it. It is time to go home and I would like to look as little like the sectretly slobby, messy person that I really am. I want to do up my cuffs again. Either way, it is now t-minus 6 mintues until home time and I am still unable to do up my own clothing.
Does this mean that I must ask Pilsbury, with the horrible laugh track and the sausage fingers, to aid me in dressing myself? Does this mean that I will be denied boarding of the street car while the passengers stare on in shock at my deshabille? Does this mean that I am slowly losing my motor skills and 12 hours from now will have to type all of my posts with my nose?
No, it doesn't. It just means that I will only ever wear this shirt again when I am certain that I will not be eating, painting or participating in any other rolling of the shirt sleeves activity. Unless of course, the Golden boy is there to help me do them up again. A situation which he might take advantage of by buttoning my wrists together and then UN-buttoning every other button he can find. I suppose I wouldn't be totally against that. As long as we weren't at work with everyone looking on.
As it is... everyone is now looking on while my arms seem to have taken on mystical bendy powers and my wrists writhe in heretofore unmentionable manners. I think I've got the sleeves pulled so far down that my bra straps are showing. I still can't get the damned things done up. At least I don't have urlLink cabbage in my bra. 
