From the ankles down, I look like Barbie. Some mornings, the only thing that's going to get you out your front door is a pair of 4-inch peeptoes in hot pink patent leather.
(I may or may not have bought these as a birthday present for my best friend a couple of years ago...and then kind of accidentally kept them. The moral of the story: Always make friends with women who share your shoe size.)
From the ankles up, I look more or less like a homeless person. Aside from the shoes, I got dressed this morning entirely in items that were lying on my bedroom floor. I also ate Trader Joe's Cheese Crunchies for breakfast, and then spent at least an hour peering diligently but uselessly at the statements for my retirement account, which might as well have been written in Sanskrit for all the sense I was able to make of them.
Now, at 6 o'clock, the course of my day is easily traceable by the items strewn all over my desk. They include: A dried-up bottle of Elmer's glue; a dead plant; three empty Diet Coke cans (One of our partners frequently stops by my door, shakes his head, and intones, "Aspartame, Clare!" before shuffling off down the hallway); many tiny Post-its full of illegible but undoubtedly important scribblings; one plush monkey that shrieks when you squeeze it in the middle; about two dozen red pens; and a rotating emergency light, of the type you might find on top of a very small toy ambulance, if the ambulance was purple. Don't ask me; I don't know either.
I have a date in two hours. It's going to include an "It's not you, it's your cigarettes" speech, and that is going to be uncomfortable.
Oh, it's such a Monday-ish Monday.
No comments:
Post a Comment