Between you and me, I was feeling a little out of sorts yesterday. A little under the weather. A little peckish. Is "peckish" hungry? Okay, then not that. I was achy, and tired, and my insides were not happy with me. If I were a mushroom, I'd be a shiitake, if you're picking up what I'm throwing down.
If I were a toy, I'd be a Lincoln Log.
If I were a sailor, I'd have been on the poop deck.
If I were a gambling man, I'd be playing craps.
I hope you're catching my subtle clues.
The point is, I was out of coffee. I don't fuck around with nonsense like that. I'm out of cat food? The cats can have tuna for dinner. I'm out of toilet paper? Hello, paper towel. But out of coffee means action. Act-shun. I wanna live. Act-shun I got so much to give.
I pulled on some jeans, but the idea of taking off my pajama tops--my Eiffel Towers--and putting on a bra just sounded exhausting. I know Grace Kelly never once thought putting on a bra was exhausting, but I'm not rich like she was. She was refined. I was on the poop deck.
And that is why I pulled on the blue sweater from the day before over my pajams. Oh, hooo care, I thought, and headed to the store.
The second I walked in, THE VERY SECOND, there was Bitchy Resting Face Alex and her husband. "Oh, hi!" they called out, all cheerful.
"I'm in my pajama top," I announced. Better to cut it off at the pass, I say. I pulled my Eiffel Tower pajama collar up like I was Katherine Hepburn. Clinically depressed Katherine Hepburn.
"I have my pajamas on too!" said BRF Alex's husband, who in the glow of youth and unpoopy health just looked like maybe he had on workout clothes. He looked absolutely fine in his ensemble. I was Delta Dawn.
After that humiliation, I headed to the coffee aisle, where immediately--IMMEDIATELY!!--I heard, "June?"
Son of a...
There was a woman I used to work with. I always liked her. "I'm wearing my pajama top," I announced again, and at this point I may as well have just gone on the PA at the store. "There's a sale on avocados, and also, June is in the coffee aisle, rockin' her Eiffel Tower pajams."
"I'm not wearing a bra!" my friend from my old job said, shaking her maracas. Did I mention I've always liked her?
And that is when her girlfriend, with whom I also worked, walked up. "June!"
OH SON OF A...
We all talked about how it was Sunday, after a holiday, and that we were entitled to wear Eiffel Tower pajama tops to the store. Then we talked about the new year, and eating healthier, and I hate to mention to you that on the way to the coffee, I had picked up 10 cans of Franco-American products. Hey, they were 10 for 8 dollars. Plus, an American wearing Eiffel Towers. I had a theme going.
"This IS healthy eating, for me," I explained to them.
Humiliated, I schlepped to the checkout stand, me, my 10 cans of canned pasta, my coffee and my sleepwear, when I heard, "June!"
OH COME ON, GOD.
There was a woman I work with currently, who's very what you'd call dignified, and despite the fact that she has 14 kids under the age of three, she was all done up and groomed. Okay, two. She has two little kids. Still. It's a lot more than I had going on, which was zero kids and general dropping Mrs. Brown off at the pool. And yet there she was, with her hair done and clothes on and so forth.
I honestly expected it to be an episode of This Is Your Life in the parking lot at that point, but fortunately I got to my car without incident. I drove home and unloaded my car.
"June! You're back!"
It was my cute, single, age-appropriate neighbor, who I hadn't seen yet.
And that is when I threw myself off the Eiffel Tower.
