Today's shiny blue skirt kept me sliding off of my new desk chair all day long. This was at its most entertaining whenever I'd try to swivel quickly to answer a question from behind me and barely catch myself with my toes to avoid falling off entirely. It happened more than I'd like to admit; I'm not always very quick on the uptake.
The drummer doesn't have a telephone, and I find that this works for me. It completely eliminates all phone call returning anxiety and turns the whole thing into a very casual, 'I'll see ya when we run into each other again' type thing. Very breezy.
Because it is roughly a million and fifteen degrees in my apartment, I headed downtown to do a little almost-last-minute shopping. (Nothing says 'ready to go to China' like buying a purse big enough to carry mosquito repellent and my enormous rockstar sunglasses in.) On the bus, the woman sitting next to me leaned in close like she was going to tell me a secret. "You'd be much prettier," she stated, "if you got a nose job."
She's probably right. But I've lived with this crooked honker my whole life and am far too concerned about the idea of not being able to recognize myself anymore to even consider plastic surgery. Besides, ew.
The man sitting in front of us whipped around and stared at her, shocked out of the typical bus rider's no eye contact comfort zone. I blushed and slid lower in the seat, my shiny blue skirt helping me slither down, at which point she nodded as though she had just performed her civic duty and returned to her newspaper. The man and I avoided looking at each other entirely.
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