Usually my post office only has one or two patrons and the line moves very fast. (Like that? I’m going to start using “patrons” in my sentences when applicable.)
That’s why I left the house today unshowered, unbrushed, unsupported (I’m a girl that’s usually supported in public), and uncoordinated (black t-shirt with pink “pub & pool” writing; gray, paint-stained, home-only sweats; and brown jersey zip up with frozen-in-time orange miniature crab bobby pin in my unkempt hair). Oh, and I didn’t bother to change into shoes so I wore red house slippers (I, personally, think it’s a fashion faux pas to wear house slippers and/or pajamas in public… unless it’s part of your Halloween costume ON Halloween or you’re going to a slumber party).
Thinking that I’d see MAYBE three people at all, and very quickly so they won’t remember what I looked/smelled like. Of course, Murphy’s Law, the line was to the door and it was moving slowly (thankfully the lady who’s difficult to understand because of her super heavy accent wasn’t working or it would’ve been slower). I couldn’t turn back. I told the recipients of these parcels that they’d go in the mail TO-DAY. So I sucked it up (whatever IT is) and pictured myself staying after school at the chalkboard, Bart Simpsonesque (click the link)…
- “I will brush my stuff, wear a bra, dress for public and put on shoes before I leave the house.”
- “I will brush my stuff, wear a bra, dress for public and put on shoes before I leave the house.”
- “I will brush my stuff, wear a bra, dress for public and put on shoes before I leave the house.”
Moral of the story: When you think you’re safe, you’re not.
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