On Saturday I was invited to a party. I fretted all day about having to dress up while being over-tired. I tried to encase myself in a red dress mostly with the aid of boob tape and Spanx, and intermittently looked in the mirror dreading the schmoozy affair which was still…8 hours away. If you’ve seen me lately, I’ve taken to wearing “boyfriend jeans” (read : baggy) and calling them my weekend pants. Nothing else will do. Just like lately, nothing else will do but facing the fact that I don’t want to go to parties anymore. So screw it. I’ll continue sitting in the yard, reading a book, eating a greasy, fried baloney sandwich ’till the end of my days. I’ll pair it with a Pumpkin Ale if I’m feeling fancy.
Holler if you need me.