I will not order take-out. I will not order take-out.
I’m in this Simplify Mode and I can’t seem to talk myslef out of it. Why make lunch when I can order ridiculously expensive take-out that neither requires the dirtying of dishes nor the cleaning of them? And laundry? For last night’s party, I could have thrown on a pair of clean jeans. I mean, at least, right? Nah, I’d just have to wash ‘em. So I shook out a pair that were on their third wear, spritzed ‘em with the squirt bottle and left them on the radiator to de-wrinkle.
When did I become a boy?
I ate Swedish Fish for breakfast.
Those who have been along for the whole High Maintenance ride that has been my life have got to be raising some eyebrows.
Gah.
Okay, okay. I’m up. I’m going to sort my laundry, DO my laundry, make brownies and apologize to the RSF for bailing on his party (We had a deal, see. I go to his party, he drives the U-haul to New York. And if I don’t want him to pull over somewhere and the highway and declare, “I’m tired. I’m going home.” I’d better DO something.)
And I’m going to make a real lunch.
PB&J anyone?
I am 100% in support of equal rights for women concerning things like take-out and wearing jeans for multiple days.
No self-respecting boy would spritz his jeans with anything before wearing them. You just shake ‘em once, and wear them.
I see, no, scoff at your third day, and raise you a week.
It takes a minimum of five days to even break ‘em in good.
It’s all about balance in the cosmos. I wore makeup 3 times this week. Upping the number of times I’ve worn makeup in 2004 to, well, 3.
If you hadn’t spritzed your jeans, there would have been floods in Greece or an earthquake in Chicago.
I’m with Lee on the jeans matter.