Yes

Most of this post is a direct lift from Bill's Journal.  I must say, I find that I agree with the sentiments herein more than I would have ever suspected.  To hell with propriety.

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Someone somewhere this morning uttered the word muse, a word I had not given thought to in so many years. Why not and why now? I could say back when I considered my muse, its comings and goings, with its wildly erratic behavior, its brilliant performance when it was showing off, I could say I was young and foolish. Perhaps a better explanation is to show the muse in action at its best and demonstrated by the Englishwoman, Jenny Joseph, in her wonderful poem, Warning, for I myself have reached that certain age.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.


And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.


I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells


And run my stick along the public railings


And make up for the sobriety of my youth.


I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people's gardens

And learn to spit.



You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat


And eat three pounds of sausages at a go


Or only bread and pickle for a week


And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.



But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street


And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.



But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised


When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.