The Perils of Being Sensible

Though those that know me might snigger at the next sentence. I am intrinsically sensible. And as I head into what my dad is referring to as my "middle age", I seem to be getting more sensible by the day. All of a sudden longevity matters. I don't want to tire of things and I don't want them to wear our before I do. I am in fact, rather sick of my own conspicuous consumption and yearn to feather my nest with functional beauty and quality of the always and forever kind. Which is my way of explaining why I own a bright red leather, really rather ugly iPad case. Because I like how it stands up. And it seems indestructible. And it matches my Kindle case. And there is a whole lot of me that hates it and wishes there weren't a hundred and one other things I need before I could even contemplate splashing out my pennies (not too many - it's on sale!) on Rachel Ashwell's truly lovely DODOcase for the iPad.

I want.

Gosh. Nobody told me sensible was dull.