I read somewhere that TPT has never made up her bed... ever, in her life.
I felt disgusted at this, this life of privilidge (sp?) the aristocracy live in. People like me can't even spell privilidge, let alone indulge in it.
I bet she gets a butler to butter her muffins too. And apply organic lemon curd as well (mmmm....)
Anyway, when I voiced my disgust at this lack of bedmaking, Debbie informed me that in all the years she's known me, I've never actually made up a bed either ... ever.
Then I realised, me and TPT might come from different backgrounds, but we are not so different really.
I looked at my hands, realising how girly and silky soft they are. I've never done a hard days work. I might tip tap on a keyboard for a living, but I've never taken an axe to a man for instance, or even a tree.
Come the revolution I'd be first up against the wall, but I'll use TPT as a human shield. Maybe I'll survive and beg for a job as a prancing fool with bells on. Like Mr Claypole.