Blimey.
I have never been as busy as I have been this morning. All of a sudden, it seems that God has knocked at my door, and asked me for a full report on the history of the world, and He requires my opinion on his work, too. And it needs to be done four minutes ago.
Capisce? Not only do I have to produce gargantuan projects, but I have to show the utmost tact and diplomacy as well. Walking on eggshells here, people! It wouldn't do to say, "Er, Lord, even though you have the power of the universe at your fingertips, and you gave of us light and all, couldn't you figure out which way the flamingo's kneecaps screwed on?"
So, that was my morning. I'm sure it will abate to a simple mad rush by this afternoon.
Somebody explain this to me, please. I was in England for only a week. I've been back for six days. Why in the name of all that is holy do I still have jetlag? It's ridiculous! I'm either falling asleep at 9:00pm, and waking up at 3:00am, or else not able to sleep until 2am, which is what happened last night and probably explains why I look like a reject from Michael Jackson's Thriller video... (How's that for a contemporary reference?)
So. England. (Not a brilliant segue, but bear with me, anyway.)
I was in Covent Garden last Monday morning. I went into all the chic designer stores, browsing like I knew what I was looking for, lightly touching the garments and then dismissing them as if I really had no interest at all. French Connection was fun and trendy, and set me in a fit of longing, but I just couldn't justify a purchase. Especially since Op.MS is still going on. Anyway, I considered buying a F.C.U.K. tee, but there is simply not enough reason in the world to spend forty quid on a black cotton T-shirt. No reason at all. Don't get me wrong. I'll spend money on clothes. And I firmly believe in the notion of over-priced haute couture... but a T-shirt? A cotton T-shirt? For a hundred bucks?
Please. My mamma didn't raise no fool. I'd rather spend a thousand dollars on a dress with Michael Kors' name on the label, rather than a hundred on bloody French Connection.
That being said... I really loved that shirt, so if anyone wants to indulge me, I wear a medium. (Hee hee! Medium!)
Now this is a brilliant segue... I was reading Fletch's diary, and noted that his roommate has come up with the hilariously funny notion of the Single's Tshirt. And so, following his lead, this would be mine... (but in red):
The Front - Good Points
- smiley disposition
- easy to talk to
- soft-hearted
- generous with funds
- delightful breastal area
- polite
- fairly intelligent
- well read
- always good for a drink
- willing to cook
- passionate Italian soul
The Back - Bad Points
- can't hear worth a damn
- tends to digress
- slight nicotine habit
- light, feminine snorer
- shelf arse
- tends toward the tardy
- passionate Italian family
A lovely day to you all.
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