You know how men can be about clothes. You get attached to an old shirt or a pair of shoes and wear them beyond their time. I have a set of sweat pants and a tank top that I like to work out in.
On the left, sweat pants. On the right, a tank top...
Mine are Navy blue. But by this time, sweat...and other things...have spotted them badly. My ex, Thomas, tells me he's ashamed to be seen with me when I wear them. So I decided to redye them. Then discovered that unless you drench them in a dye fixative, both me and my laundry will be stained Navy blue for some time. Finally tracked down the fixative in a fabric store...my idea of hell, from childhood shopping trips with my mother...in the Mission. Going in there is practically a Coming Out Statement. But I bucked up, and now the dyed and fixatived and very dark blue things are drying on my back deck. We'll see how it turns out.
On the bus over there, I was treated to one of the reasons I bought a car. Some ghetto trash Latina of substandard intelligence and barbaric impoliteness was shouting into her cell phone for the whole bus to hear. Jefferson and Co. may have believed that all men are created equal, but things change right after that. I'm on craigslist, looking for that new car.
Picnic lunch on the couch: salmon cream cheese and crackers, potato salad, bologna, grape tomatoes, ginger ale. Nice on a warm sunny afternoon.
I am, of course, filled with patriotic pride at Ms. Obama's performance with the NAACP. Burlap bags.
I wonder if there have ever been other civilizations besides the modern West where the road to power was to achieve victim status. (And then hold on to it for dear life, other grounds for respect being on the thin side..)
On a new Vonage commercial, most of the actors have foreign accents.
2 comments:
Only you can make a fuss about clothing, dying a tank top(?!) and sweat pants to make them presentable enough at the gay gym -- and yet in the story you seem NOT gay.
It's an art! LOL
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