Today in Queen Bess's Life

Tomb Effigy of Mary Queen of Scots

On this day in 1587, Elizabeth's cousin, Mary Queen of Scots, was executed upon Elizabeth's orders.  For what?  Basically for plotting the assassination of Elizabeth.  What would Mary gain by Elizabeth's death?  The English throne as she was the eldest descendant of Henry VIII's sister.  Roman Catholics believed she was the rightful heir since Elizabeth was both illegitimate and a Protestant Heretic.

Mary became the Queen of Scotland when she was six days old and her father died.  When she was only six months old, Henry VIII tried to propose a treaty with Scotland that would wed Mary to his son Edward.  Some of the Regents left in charge of Scotland didn't like this idea and, eventually, Mary was sent to France.  It was in France that she was raised with the Prince Dauphin and they married when she was sixteen (and he was fifteen).

My Subconscious Is Just Laughing At Me Now...

A few months ago, I reported that my subconscious is broken because, when I had a dream about my celebrity crush, Aaron Rodgers, the most 'action' I got was holding hands.  I will again submit that I still do not have any naughty thoughts during my waking hours.  However, this time, my sleep was induced by the magical muscle relaxer my doctor prescribed for my back.  I'm off all of the other prescriptions except for that tiny little piece of heaven that has made sleep possible and ... dreams a little more vibrant.

So one would think that, finally, I could have some fun...  Not at all.  In fact, my dreams told me, "You don't have a snowball's chance, baby."  Lookit Aaron here... It's like he's saying, "Go for it Spinster!  Let loose!"

No such luck.

It's right around the corner...

I'm going to get this out of the way a week early... Valentine's Day is around the corner.  Bleah. I've never liked Valentine's Day -- even when I've been with someone.  Maybe even especially when I've been with someone.  Why?  Because there are so many expectations of gestures of romance and love and chocolates and roses and jewelry.  Since I seem to pick men who are either poor or just not romantic, I am always disappointed.

It doesn't help that, at this particular moment, I'm pretty pissed off at Mr. Man.  I won't go into the reasons, I'll just say that he's a butt head and I don't see it getting better in the next week -- unless he has a lobotomy.  Unfortunately, you can't just order those up.  A professional has to say you need one and I guess it's a pretty big deal and stuff.  So ...

In years past, I always wore black on Valentine's Day in protest.  But it's not really a protest.  It's a billboard proclaiming, "I'm bitter because this holiday has always sucked for me so I want to suck any joy that you might have on this day."  That's why I'm getting this rant out early.  Even though I hate the day, I know a lot of people love it and even look forward to it.

Or maybe I just have a really bad past life memory from Ancient Rome and the Lupercalia Festival.  Getting hit by men bearing thongs made out of goat skin doesn't seem all that romantic or alluring.

At least my History major gave me something -- the ability to rationalize my own bitter attitudes with the help of knowledge about obscure, ancient pagan rituals.  I wonder where a girl could get a goat skin thong ...  Or maybe I need to get on a plane to Edmonton:  Lupercalia MMXIII.  Probably after a weekend of this kind of celebration, I just might long to be underwhelmed by the lack of effort of any of my Valentines.

Is that scale of yours accurate?

You might recall my triumph at finding out that I weighed 11 pounds less than I thought I would two Sunday's ago.  I shared that good news to anyone who would listen because everyone cares, right?  Of course I told Mr. Man.  Of course, he has no frame of reference because I've never told him how much I weigh.  He's seven inches taller than me and I know I weigh more -- or, on good days, the same.

So, later that week, Mr. Man and I were enjoying a snuggle under my newly cleaned down comforter.  The conversation went a little like this.

MM:  Is that scale of yours accurate?

SS:  Yeah.  Why do you ask?

MM:  I dunno, I just saw it in the bathroom and wondered if it's accurate.

SS:  It has to be because I always weigh myself before I go to the doctor and it's only two pounds off their scale.  If anything it must be heavy because when I weigh myself at home, I'm naked, I've peed, and I've had nothing to eat or drink yet that morning.  When I go to the doctor, I've had breakfast and am fully clothed.

MM:  [nodding]  Makes sense. [throwing back the comforter and getting out of bed] I gotta pee.