(Photo by Natasha Tofias)

That’s yours truly, Dear Readers, being “Gran” on my annual Christmas trip to Boston.  And those are my grandchildren- Carly (Caroline) age one and a half in my lap and Sam age three and half on the floor.

A swell time was had by all.  The kids were sweet and Sam actually knew who I was this time.  (As opposed to his paternal grandparents who live only two miles away and are a constant presence in his life.)

Sadly, I am the OTHER grandmother.

Sam and I spent the days playing hide and seek, hide and seek tag- a game that Sam invented- basketball, soccer and tic tac toe – which I taught him when I became exhausted from all that running around.

In return, he taught me a new game.

Don’t Break The Ice.

In case you’re not familiar with the rules, each player gets a mallet and taps out the ice blocks one by one.  The first player who makes the penguin fall through the ice, loses.


After two days of this, I had to change it up a little.  And the penguin was my inspiration.

I picked up an imaginary telephone.

“Hey, Sam, this is the owner of the Boston Bruins and we’re having a home game at the Garden tonight.  Can you deliver me some ice for the stadium?”

Sam got on board right away. Pretty amazing considering he’s never seen a hockey game and has no idea who the Bruins are.

“I can’t,” he said.  “I have other people who need the ice more than you do. ”


“But this is important,” I explained.  “The game is being televised and I NEED that ice.  You have to deliver it right away!”

“Sorry.”  He was obdurate.  “You will have to wait.  Other people are ahead of you.”


“But I can’t wait!  This is a game against the Stanley Cup champions- the Pittsburgh Penguins.  This is a crucial game.”

“No, I’m sorry.  You can get on the waiting list.  I have other people that are waiting for that ice.”

“I simply have to have that ice.  The Garden is sold out.  Look, I’ll pay you three times the going rate if you can have that ice here this afternoon.”

“No, I’m sorry. You are going to have to wait your turn,” Sam countered.

I knew how to handle this. I was going to have to be firm.

“I’d like to speak to the boss, please.”

“I AM the boss, ” Sam replied.  “Sorry. No ice.”

I knew when I was licked.  I am only too well acquainted with those genes and that corporate behavior.

Paging his OTHER grandfather.

Posted in Grandchildren, Grandparents | 2 Comments

The Gift of The Magi

Happy New Year, Dear Readers!  Hope 2018 is a fabulous, happy, healthy year for all of us.   And to get us in the spirit of things, let’s start off with a holiday tale.

A 2017 Christmas Fable

… So a few weeks before Christmas, TBF got himself an Echo Dot.

Do you have one?  They’re fun, right?  We liked horsing around with it.  He got a big kick out of asking Alexa what the weather was and I enjoyed having another know-it-all around the house just in the (rare) event that I didn’t know the answer to some trivia question.

Ahem.  Very rare.

And then we found a really great use for it.  We started requesting songs.

And faster than you could say, “Jeff Bezos,” this thing would connect with a satellite dish in space or something and BAM!  There was music- ANY music we could think of- playing right in his kitchen.

Amazing, right?

Sure replaced this as my favorite music device.

TBF and I took turns.  First he’d suggest a song.

Then I would.

We did this for hours as we decked his halls with boughs of holly.

Speaking of that, does anyone remember Pogo?

And, as we were wrapping up, (pun intended) I requested a WOW finish.

Great.  And we both looked forward to hours of more fun playing with Alexa.

Then disaster struck.

As I went to move an electric broom TBF had used (for the record, I am allergic to all forms of housework except cooking) I didn’t notice that its cord was entwined with Alexa’s umbilical cord and…


Alexa fell right on her head onto his kitchen floor.

Poor Alexa.

Poor Ellen.

“Alexa! Alexa! Are you ok?” I beseeched her as soon as she was rescued and re-plugged in again.

Poor Alexa gamely tried to answer.  Her blue light lit and blinked but there was no sound coming out her voice box.

“Talk to me, Alexa!  What is the weather in Chicago, Illinois?” I begged.


Thereby followed an hour of direction-reading and re-booting and praying and faith-healing and finally striking Alexa sharply on her noggin.

But to no avail.

Nothing worked.  Alexa could not be revived and as hard as she tried, not one single note came out of her dot.

Finally, with me devastated and thoroughly shaken, TBF unceremoniously dumped Alexa into the garbage can.

Poor, poor Alexa.


I felt awful.

“I killed Alexa,” I wailed.  “How can you ever forgive me?”

“Don’t worry about it,” TBF soothed.  “It’s no big deal.”

“But I broke her and you loved her and she was brand new and…”

“Forget about it,” he commanded.  “It was just a toy.  I don’t care.”

But I couldn’t forget the sight of Alexa upside down is his garbage can. So pitiful.

But I still had time to set things right.  The next morning I rushed over to Bed, Bath and Beyond and lo and behold- there was another Amazon Dot in shiny black!

I took her home and wrapped her up- along with some coconut chocolate chip cookies I had baked to serve at the old Alexa’s funeral.

(Okay.  So I’m not so hot at wrapping, either.  Sue me.)

I was going out to dinner with TBF and his family in a couple of nights and I thought the gift of the new Alexa would be a great surprise.

Until he called me.

“Listen to this,” he crowed.  “Alexa, what is the weather in Chicago, Illinois?”

“The weather in Chicago is currently 42 degrees and…”

“What!  You got her working again?  How? Why? What made you fish her out of the garbage?”

“You know me, “TBF said.  “I had to see if I could fix her.  So I took her out and looked for some way to open that case.  There wasn’t any.  So finally I just smacked her hard on her bottom and all’s well.”

“Impressive- except now we have two,” I confessed.

“I knew you were going to buy me another one! I’m way ahead of you.  Keep it.  I’m giving it to you for Christmas.”


Alexa, play “My Guy.”

And just in case you don’t have one yet, here’s a primer on how to work it.

Alexa, say Happy New Year!

Posted in Christmas, Echo Dot | 6 Comments


A Cautionary- and True- Holiday Play

Dramatis Personae

Ellen, the perky heroine
Edna, the seventy-five year old lifelong postal employee
Cliff, the Post Master

All the action takes place at Window Number One in a post office in a small town one hour west of Chicago.

Edna (wearily):  Next.

Ellen (very chipper and upbeat):  Hi!  I was in here a couple of weeks ago and…

Edna (wearily):  Yeah, I remember you.  You’re the one who wouldn’t insure the package.

Ellen (very chipper and upbeat):  Yep.  That was me.  Heh. Heh. Made a big mistake there. But the thing is that those two candles I was sending to my daughter-in-law in Seattle never made it.  Someone stole the package, ripped out its contents, taped it back up and sent it back on its way.  It got to my son’s house a week late and it was empty.  See?  He took photos.

Edna (wearily):  Yeah, yeah,  Well, it wasn’t insured so there’s nothing I can do about it.

Ellen (very chipper and upbeat):  I understand that I can’t be reimbursed for the contents.  I get that.  All I want is my $13.75 for the original postage back.  I have the receipt, see?

Edna (wearily):  I can’t help you.  You’ll have to go on line and fill out a form.

Ellen (very chipper and upbeat):  I came in a week ago and filed a “missing package” claim when I stopped getting updates about the package’s whereabouts.  A guy named Todd helped me fill out the request. Is he here today?

Edna (wearily): No.  Go on line.  Next.

Meanwhile a line of customers bearing Christmas presents is forming behind Ellen.  And it’s starting to get longer- and unhappier- with each passing moment.

Ellen (very chipper and upbeat but sweating a little):  I tried that already. I couldn’t complete the form because as soon as I filled in the field with the package’s tracking number the screen would freeze.  It sent me a message that I couldn’t proceed any farther because the package was not insured.  I tried it several times.  Look, Todd called me yesterday and asked if it had been delivered.  I told him it had been vandalized.  He told me to come in and fill out a form.  Are you sure he’s not around?  I’d like my refund.

Edna (wearily):  No.  And I can’t help you.  I can’t pay it out of my own pocket.  Next.

Ellen (still chipper but getting desperate):  This is ridiculous.  I want my money back.

Edna (wearily):  Next.

Ellen (resolute):  I’m not moving.  What if I didn’t have a computer?  What did people do for refunds before there were computers?  There MUST be a paper form to fill out.  I want that $13.75.

The crowd is growing ugly.  Phrases like “stupid tourist” and “cheap moron” are being mumbled.

Ellen (desperate but determined):  I’m not leaving without my $13.75.  This is an injustice.  My gifts never arrived and I demand satisfaction.  Don’t you people have an oath about “neither rain nor sleet nor snow” or something?   Isn’t there anyone else I can talk to?

Edna (wearily pointing to the man standing immediately next to her behind the glass):  Well, I guess I can ask Cliff seeing how you’re holding up the line and all.  He’s our postmaster.  Cliff, this woman wants a refund and she says she can’t go on line.

Cliff (opening the drawer NEXT to Edna and pulling out a piece of paper from a huge stack):  Here.  Have her fill this out and then give her the refund.

Edna (wearily shoving the form that has undoubtedly been sitting in that drawer next to her for the last fifty years):  Here.  Fill this out and I guess I can give you the money right outta this cash drawer.

Ellen (nervously eyeing the enraged crowd):  I’ll be real quick.

The curtain falls as angry threats and unflattering epithets are heard throughout the lobby.


And this is a “finis” to my posts for this year, Dear Readers.  Taking the holidays off.  Wishing you a wonderful holiday and the happiest of New Years.

See you on Sunday, January 14, 2018.

Posted in pop culture, Post Office, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Linked In

…So a couple of weeks ago I was at Leslie Hindman working a fine jewelry preview.  (A preview runs for five days ahead of the auction so that clients can check out the dazzling goodies in person.)

This was a fantastic sale.  There were gorgeous rings, necklaces, earrings and pins galore.  My personal favorites?  A beautiful pair of simple diamond studs and an emerald cut diamond ring.  My tastes run to the classic but there were scads of “important” statement pieces to be had, as well.

The preview was jammed.  I was busy all day long with collectors, dealers, women of the world, suburban housewives, grandmothers looking for Christmas gifts, executive assistants shopping for their bosses and mothers and daughters trying on engagement rings.

Most came armed with lists and an eye for a good piece- and maybe a bargain or two.  It was fun.

And then I met Rick.**

(**Name changed to protect his consumer privacy.)

Rick, too, had a Christmas wish list.  He was searching for items for a host of friends and family.

I spent a good hour and a half with him as he savvily made his way from jewel case to jewel case looking at rings, bracelets and watches for his mother. (His pinkie was the same size as her ring finger.  Their wrists were the same size.)

And he scoped out lots of adorable necklaces for all his lucky teen aged godnieces.

Clearly Rick knew his onions.  And his timepieces.  He had more than a “civilian’s” knowledge of fine watches and his informed comments made his expertise in this area obvious.

Rick was my favorite kind of client.  Educated and determined to find just the right gift.

We had a ball as we went around the showroom and then we came to the very last case.

Rick looked at me intently.

“May I ask you a question?”

I knew from his tone that this would have nothing to do with the LH inventory he had been eying for the last ninety minutes.  I was curious.

“Sure.  Go ahead and ask.  What would you like to know?”

“Do you happen to have any spare links to the watch that you are wearing?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” I replied.  “My wrists are small and any watch I buy always has to have some links removed.  They’re still in the box that the watch came in. Why?”

“I just bought my mother that exact same watch on line but it’s too small.  I need three links so that it can fit her.  If you have them, I’ll buy them from you.”

“Let me go home and double check that I have them. But you’ll have to set the price.  I have NO idea what to charge you.”

We exchanged email addresses and after work I checked the box.

There were three links and their pins.

I also checked prices on the internet.  It was kind of a crapshoot.  I found similar links for Rolex watches but not for Bertolucci.

I emailed Rick the pic and we agreed on a price.

The next day he showed up at the showroom and effortlessly peeled off  twenty dollar bills from a big wad of cash.

I must confess that I experienced a moment of seller’s remorse.

Maybe I should have charged him more?  After all, he couldn’t give his mother the watch without my links.

But then I came to.  They had been sitting around for years and I had no use for them.  What were the odds that someone would actually need them?

Besides, I like the old adage “Pigs get fed but hogs get slaughtered.”

But still I’ve got to ask, Dear Readers.

Anyone out there love their mother alot and need a link and a pin from a gold watch?

I’m your girl.

Cash only, please.

Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Snap, Crack(le), Pop

Raise your hand if you still eat cereal.  Hold it.  I’m not talking about muesli or oatmeal or the granola on top of your yogurt.

Hah. Those are gateway drugs.

I’m talking about the hard stuff- the junk- Sugar Pops, Honey Smacks, Honey Crisp and the biggest thrill ride of them all- and hardest to kick-

Frosted Flakes.

They’re grrrrrreat, all right.  And they must be the crack cocaine of the breakfast world.  If I eat one small bowl of them, I  am instantly taken over by the irresistible impulse to eat the whole box.

High Ho, Sugar!

I have fond memories of cereal.  I picture Guy Madiso- tv’s Wild Bill Hickok- gracing a box of Sugar Pops.

And then there was the Olympic pole vault champ Bob Richards on the front of the very first athlete-adorned Wheaties box.***

*** Did any kid actually eat Wheaties?  I remember that chewing them was like trying to ingest small bales of hay.  Yuck.

And then of course, there were all my favorite childhood morning pals like Rice Crispies, Trix, Cheerios, Kix and even Grandma’s favorite- Raisin Bran.

When I was a kid I never missed Gabby Hayes and his westerns on television.  I would sit in a rapt trance until the ending of each episode.  Gabby’s kids’ show was brought to you by Quaker Oats and they were “shot from guns.”

I hated loud noises.

I’d always race to shut off the tv set as Gabby whirled the cannon around to face his home audience.

Moving on to the next generation, I fondly remember Nick and Natasha’s favorites: Apple Jacks, Captain Crunch, Cocoa Puffs, Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops.

These days I pass the cereal aisle in Mariano’s without a backward glance.  I have whipped my Frosted Flake jones and Tony the Tiger is no longer on my back.

But I have to be honest.

As a card-carrying member of CCA (Cold Cereal Anonymous) I know that I can’t even sample one teaspoon of Rice Crispies.  It would lead me straight to the Corn Pops and then on to the Honey Smacks and then soon, I’d been main-lining the Frosted Flakes right there in the store.  I don’t need no stinkin’ milk.

It’s a constant battle.

Sigh.  Oh well. One morning at a time.

Posted in Breakfast, cereal | 6 Comments

The Way We Were

The day after Thanksgiving I watched the Barbra Streisand special- “The Music…The Mem’Ries…The Magic!” on Netflix.  I am not a big Barbra fan anymore but I was fascinated just the same.

NO SPOILER ALERT:  If you haven’t seen it yet, this is a documentary of the concert in Miami on her last tour. It was filled with singing- and eating.  I especially liked the part that showed her calling Joe’s personally and asking them to add fried chicken to her après-concert standing stone crab order. Somehow it’s gratifying to know that La Streisand and I share the same passion for their cole slaw.

Back to the show…

Her set list was comprised of the usual suspects: “The Way We Were,” “People,” “Windmills Of My Mind,” “Evergreen.” All the old chestnuts were done and duly received standing ovations.  This concert was such a love fest- as I suspect all of her concerts are.

There was an odd, cringe-worthy mutual admiration society with Jamie Foxx an a corny duet of “Climb Every Mountain.”  There were some pleas to pay attention to climate change and a tribute to past POTUSes JFK, LBJ, and WJC with her wonderful anthem “Happy Days Are Here Again.”

Her voice isn’t what it used to be but that said, she is still a canny song stylist, a sensitive interpreter of lyrics and a mesmerizing entertainer.  She effortlessly holds the audience in the palm of her trademark long-nailed hand.

BS is a legend- and she knows it.  And she enjoys it and it’s a gas for us to be able to tag along and enjoy the road show.

SIDEBAR: The guy who enjoys it the most is her husband, James Brolin.  To use a Yiddishism, boy did he fall into the schmaltz barrel!  You should see him living it up in his role of consort to Barbra’s Jewish Princess.

Okay, we always knew she went for Gentile guys on screen-  Robert Redford, Nick Nolte, Kris Kristofferson, Ryan O’Neal.  But I’m pretty sure that in this case, Art Imitates Life.

After she became a superstar and ditched hapless Elliot Gould, Barbra must have figured that she deserved some serious eye candy. (I’m not counting that bad boy hair dresser turned Hollywood producer, Jon Peters.  He had her under his Svengali spell for a while but she snapped out of it, thank goodness.  Who liked the frizz?)

Enter James Brolin.  Meh tv star- See Marcus Welby, Md.- and distinguished now, if not by his acting, but his gray hair.

His role on the tour – if not in his marital life- seems to be pretty straight forward.  Kiss the dog, shut up, smile pretty and enjoy the key lime pie.  And I bet he always know the correct answer to “Honey, does this make me look fat?”

I’m sorry this reads like a pan.  I used to be so in love in with her.  From the day in 1963 when my mother brought home The Second Barbra Streisand Album, I was a goner.

And then in 1968 the album of Funny Girl came out and it rocked my world.

I’m the Greatest Star,” “Don’t Rain On My Parade,” “Funny Girl,” – Barbra’s haunting voice spoke to me personally.

And she spoke to me as a role model, as well- Jewish Girl Makes (Very) Good.  She was a force of entertainment Nature and she set the bar winning the EGOT and The Peabody Award.

Even though I’m not in love anymore, I’ve got to admit my hat is off to the lady.

She’s one of a very rare kind.

Now take a look at her when we were both just starting out.

Hello, Gorgeous.

Posted in Barbra Streisand, Broadway, Movies, Music | 8 Comments

Stuck on You

Hi, Dear Readers.  Hope you all had a very happy Thanksgiving holiday.

And now…

How many of you know what this item is used for?

Do the names “Revell” and “Monogram” mean anything to you?

If these brands bring back smiles, chances are you have fond memories of these:


I never made model cars or airplanes myself as a kid but I have vivid memories of my brother Kenny doing tons of them.

He was crazy about them when he was about this age.

(That’s Kenny and my dad, Ben Roffe, at Camp Ojibwa, circa 1967.)

The date stamp on this picture is no fluke.  Model car kits hit the zenith of their popularity in the early ’60’s.  Kids were just plain car-crazy back then and if you couldn’t afford a snappy convertible, an awesome monster truck or a cool dragster, you could always build one.

Kenny would wheedle and cajole my dad or mom into a trip to E.J. Korvette’s to feed his habit.

Remember that place?

It was on Dempster- right down the street from where Par King Miniature Golf used to be.

As a teen, I use to patronize Korvette’s myself.  It was a really keen place to buy record albums.  Remember those?

…Anyway, when he wasn’t at camp or playing baseball, Kenny loved buying those model kits.  He’d chose one carefully and then guard it zealously until he could get it back home safely.

Kenny had a process to his model-building.

(And well I remember it.)

STEP ONE:  Unceremoniously dump entire contents of kit onto kitchen table.

STEP TWO:  Locate instruction manual.

STEP THREE: Throw away instruction manual.

STEP FOUR: Hastily break off model pieces from that plastic tree-like thing to which they were attached.

STEP FIVE: Open glue.

STEP SIX: Just go for it!  Glue everything in sight on the model where they look as if they might belong

STEP SEVEN:  Euphoria!  A finished model car or airplane.  No feeling like it!  (Or was it the glue?…)

STEP EIGHT: Pause for a moment of quizzical despondency because there are three or four left-over parts still on the kitchen table.  Where do they go?  Are they important?

STEP NINE:  Nah.  Euphoria again!

STEP TEN: Scheme to get Mom or Dad to drive back to Korvette’s next Saturday.

Posted in E.J.Korvette's, hobbies, Model kits, Nostalgia, pop culture | 17 Comments


Happy Thanksgiving, Dear Readers. In honor of the holiday, won’t you join me for a chat?  Hope you have a marvelous day and I’ll see you next on Sunday, December 10.

Posted in Thanksgiving, Video blog | 17 Comments


Do you like Yelp?  I LOVE Yelp.  And I use it for everything.

Sure, I’ve used it to check out restaurants.  But I’ve also used it to vet everything from movie theaters to funeral homes.

I really rely on the Yelpers’ unbiased comments, telling photographs and good directions.

I would be lost without it.


But sometimes I think that it would be cool if we could check people out on it.  You know, like for dating?

Wouldn’t it save a lot of time, energy and heartbreak if we could read candid and accurate reviews of what people are really like so we could make up on minds in advance whether to date them- or marry them?

Well, in that spirit of transparency, I have decided to write a Yelp review of myself.

Here’s what you’d find if you Yelp “Ellen Ross.”

**** 5 reviews
$$$$ Female
Add Photo    Check In    Bookmark

 Call                         Directions
Unlisted                                                        On request

Explore the menu
Aging ex-brunette, brown eyes, fair sense of humor, good knowledge of trivia.  BYOB.  This site is alcohol free.


  Loud.  Easy to hear over the roar of the crowd and ambient background noise. Senior-friendly.

 Good for groups? No.

  Not good for kids

… More Info

  Open every day. Extended hours Friday and Saturday. Note these are the peak times. Be sure and get your reservation in at least two weeks in advance.

     No Delivery.  You will have to go to her.

 Will do carry out under rare circumstances.  Blizzards, late night cravings for Chinese, pizza and chocolate chip cookies. Check ahead.


     Credit Cards

 Apple Pay

Prefers outdoor seating in the summer.  Palm Beach, Palm Springs, Scottsdale, St. Bart’s and Aspen in the winter.

  Street Parking extremely limited.  Get to know the garage guys across the street. $$ helps with the relationship-building.

Following an eleven year hiatus, great news! Ellen Ross has come back on the market again.  Well-known for her joie de vivre and brilliant intelligence, she’s a seasoned professional when it comes to dating, matrimony and so much more.  She speaks French and Italian, loves music from Verdi to The Weekend and writes the oh-so-amusing blog www.letterfromelba.com

Photos and Videos



 Messages  Copy Link              …   More


  X-1                                                                                          5/13/70

I have to be honest here. I can’t write a rave. I’ve known Ellen since she was fourteen and she did NOT get better with age. She’s bossy, demanding and although she has a certain allure, the price tag is definitely not worth it. Very forgettable. Skip this.

   PikesvillePrince                                                                        12/20/75

I have to give her one star because she was great with the dogs. Not that great with me, though. She hated beautiful Baltimore and complained all the time that she couldn’t get a good burger, pizza or hot dog. Pass this one by.

   CEO                                                                                         one month ago
No stars

  MountainMan                                                                                  6/13/09

While I can’t go nuts here, I can’t complain. I always had a pretty good time with Ellen. Lousy skier, though.

  KidRock                                                          9/5/05

Come on! She was old enough to be my mother. I was on meth at the time. Way past her expiration date. Do yourself a favor. Find a hot young chick.

201 reviews that are not currently recommended

Posted in Divorce, pop culture | 8 Comments

In The Hood

That’s my Scottie, Andy, and yours truly on an old chair lift in Snowmass, Colorado.  This pic was my 1996 Christmas card.  It was captioned “Every lassie has her laddie.”

I was also the proud owner of Scotties, Kayo Murdoch and Gillis.

(That’s Gillis on the left, Andy in the middle and Murdoch on the right.)

As many of you know, I am bananas about that breed.

I have already written about the joys of being owned by a Scottish Terrier. ICYMI here it is.

And I have a few knickknacks around the house with some Scottie stuff on them.  An ashtray Nick got me in Mexico, (?) an old bar pitcher with the logo of Black and White Scotch on it, a tartan purse with some little Scotties on the front, a cool bakelite deco pin.

Fodor Travel Sidebar:  Oddly, I never found ANY Scottie stuff in Scotland.  Nothing.  The best I could do was take photographs of the Greyfriar’s Bobby statue in Edinburgh.  (And he was a Skye Terrier so it doesn’t count.)

But given the vast amount of Scottish Terrier stuff out there, I am pretty restrained.


I even know a Scottie-mad couple who have Scottish Terrier toilet paper.

(I do love this licorice, however.  And if you want to send me some for Christmas, I would never say no.)

You get the idea.

When I see a Scottie on the street, I turn to mush.  I have to pet it.

And I want a Scottie puppy in the worst way- until I recover my senses and realize that my life has no place for a dog at the moment.  Put that on the “Things To Do In The Future” list.

A minor- and harmless- obsession I’d say.

So I was in Pittsburgh recently and visited the Carnegie Mellon campus.  Pretty neat.  All those smart kids working on biodegradable electronics, secret self-driving car projects for Uber and super futuristic robots that can operate on you.


As TBF and I strolled around the campus, my eye was drawn to this sign.

I simply had to go into the book store to see what was up.

And then I saw it.

OMG! A hoodie with a Scottie on it.

I couldn’t believe my eyes.  There was an adorable Scottish Terrier on the front of that sweatshirt.  Not a badger or wolverine or lion or a tiger or a bear.

Here’s why.

TBF saw me cooing over it.

It’s in my closet now.

Like I always say…

Scotties rule!

Posted in Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, Scottish Terrier | 2 Comments