Flavors and Flashes

I must say that I've had a rather inspired weekend. After the murky-hooded-darkness of depression I wallowed in on Friday finally lifted, ( sorry readers!) I saw my way out and tried adjusting my perspective.

And Saturday morning, I actually invented a new blend of coffee!
I've named it Pumpmintvanillaspicechochazelnutalmondtoffeelatte.

So, here's the story on that:

I guess I'm a sucker for flavored coffee. Anytime I see some mouthwatering blend in the grocery store, I inhale like a blood hound and go after it. There is something so tantalizing about exotic names like coconut vanilla breakfast blend or triple chocolate cocoa coffee beans or pumpkin marshmallow swirl latte.

(Confidentially, there are times when I needed new underwear, but I'd spend eight dollars on a bag of coffee instead.)

I don't know why I've never learned my lesson, and this is it: Flavored coffee never taste like its name.
Never. Ever. Ever. They all just taste like...coffee.

So, Saturday morning while fixing breakfast, I fumbled through Ziploc baggies of coffee flavors and poured them all into a three pound canister. The aroma was to die for! But, sadly I know that the taste will be lacking the actual essence.
I'm content enough now that I've got this exotic bland of my very own and I'm staying out of the coffee aisle for awhile.

Now... we can move along to invention #2 which floated into my mind Sunday morning.
And all because I went to bed Saturday evening wearing this:

 A long sleeved tee and fleece pants. The perfect pajamas for a snowy night of single digits. And I lower my thermostat to 62 at night, so this makes for the ideal in-case-my-husband-hogs-the-covers outfit.
BUT, this is what I woke up in Sunday morning:

My husband's boxer shorts (that he has never worn, by the way) and a short sleeved pajama top. Sometime in the middle of the night I woke up in the Amazonian jungle with sweat the size of baseballs glistening on my forehead and my skin sticky and boiling.
I tumbled out of bed like I'd just crossed the Sahara Desert in a coat, and immediately started looking through the dresser in the dark. Hence, the unattractive and uncoordinated outfit above.

This got me thinking: Why can't they make sensible pajamas for women who are menopausal challenged? Why doesn't some nightwear-designer-savior come rescue us ladies that suffer in the middle of the night?

I think that a perfect pair of pajamas would be made out of a very thin version of Under Armour. This clothing brand pulls sweat and moisture away from your body so that you can maintain an even body temperature. And they say it feels like wearing nothing.
Then, it needs to be at least a Capri length to keep the bare thighs from suctioning together. And I am thinking it could possibly incorporate a removable sleeve.

You know how those Chippendale dancers whoosh off their shirts and pants on stage? (Well, I don't either, but I've heard stories). My newly designed pajama top would have pull away sleeves. That way, you can go to bed snugly warm- even with your arms outside the blankets, but can easily relieve yourself of the perspiration that attacks you later. Just pull on the break-away sleeves and you are cool as a cucumber!

Of course, this amazing lingerie would have to produced in a variety of colors and patterns to suit the discriminating over-50 set.

I laid in bed Sunday morning, telling this all to my husband. (Except the Chippendale part).
He stared at me like I was some sort of loony tune.

But, you know- history is full of inventors and creators that were laughed at. Mark my words- some designer will come up with these wonderful Hot Flash Pajamas and I'll say "I told you so!"

But, for now, I'll just sit here and drink my                
Pumpmintvanillaspicechochazelnutalmondtoffeelatte and contemplate my new discoveries!