I tend to wear my clothes until they are literally falling apart at the seams, because I hate crowds and store workers who I know would rather be anywhere else than the register I am at.
As I walk among the racks of clothes looking for something neutral and ordinary in order to make it through the coming summer months I hear laughter from across the room.
Check your pants, is your zipper up? Yep so not that. How 'bout shoes, is there a toilet paper trail? I haven't been to the bathroom. Doesn't matter check anyway. Clothes, yes I am wearing clothes. Do they match? Hard to go wrong with black on black. Is it my hair? My face? My body? I should ask them. No it's not really about me, I'm not that vain. Ohh I like that song. Brain stop it. You know good and well it's not about you. Quit making my knees shake. I think I'm going to throw up.
Shhhh. I've almost gained the pants trust and I am sure they will accept me as one of their own.
My mother is a saint. Without her, I would have had to retire to a cave in the hills a long time ago. It's nice to be known as the crazy cat lady instead of the crazy naked lady.
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