throwing waffles

In the midst of taking notes during my committee meeting this afternoon, I start twirling my pen (one of those disposable fountain pens I so adore) around between my fingers. I’m not really paying attention to what I’m doing, and as I stop twirling to write something down, I notice a few pronounced ink blots on my notebook. “Hmm… I wonder where those came from,” I think. A few minutes later, a strange sight caught the corner of my eye… a rather noticeable very black ink blot on the sleeve of my (favorite) white shirt. As I was absent-mindedly twirling my pen, it was spewing ink all over the damn place. The kicker? The ink stain was right above the chocolate stain that I procured during lunch. It’s always the white shirt, isn’t it?

So I’m in the dressing room in Target this afternoon. I’m trying on some jeans, stupidly thinking I might find some decent ones for less than $30. As I pull them up, I only have one thought: “What is with these damn low-rise jeans? Teenagers these days.” Then I try on a very cute floaty square neck shirt… and it’s so large and floaty that I look pregnant. As I was frowning at myself in the mirror, wondering why Target hates me so much, I find a bunch of gray hairs. So I guess it’s not just Target that is out to get me.