A few weeks ago, I had one of "those" days. By that, I mean that at 3:07, I wanted to kill the man driving the blue Ford F-150 on the corner of Fred Waring and 111 because he didn't leave me enough room to make a right hand turn during the red light. At ten past three, I got teary-eyed thinking about orphans. No orphans in particular, just orphans in theory. Before the clock struck four, I swiped my debit card at the register of Old Navy, and came out with one red velour sweatsuit, because I felt like lounging around my house in something warm and cozy, and everything else I owned of the warm and cozy variery was getting on my nerves. When clothing is getting on your nerves, you're having one of "those" days.
Fast forward to today. I changed into afformentioned sweats faster than Clark Kent becomes Superman and was on the couch, horizontal, before my daughter could say "Let's watch Cartoon Network!" As I lie there, not unlike a beached whale, I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the TV screen.
I learned a priceless lesson today. Never buy an entire outfit made of red velour, unless you want to look like the bastard lovechild of Santa Claus and the Koolaid Man.
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