Sister, you said a mouthful. So happy I can provide hair product and proper accessories for you. Even more important, I am grateful beyond words each and every day for our sisterly bond.
Our little family hunkered down in the San Francisco rain and wind to enjoy White Christmas…until we couldn’t lay our hands on it. Given that there are DVDs on these premises numbering into the thousands, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that our lack of a definitive filing system has resulted in many a waylaid disk. Damn. I was dying to stare at Vera-Ellen’s stick legs and to admire Danny Kaye’s blue/gray suede shoes custom dyed to match his suit.
I’ve got half a mind (insert sarcastic remark here, Hot Pants) to lodge a formal complaint with Turner Classic Movies about the lack of White Christmas among their many holiday offerings.
We made do with The Bishop’s Wife. Oh, Cary Grant. (Much better than O Holy Night, in my book.) He was and is the personification of handsome. And Elsa Lanchester’s breathless dialogue as a sweet house maid always gives me a giggle. I shudder to imagine the pale imitation with Denzel Washington & Whitney Houston, The Preacher’s Wife. “Hell to the no,” Ms. Houston. Stick to warbling lyrics you do not seem to understand.