When I was little, I didn’t so much have an imaginary friend as an imaginary boss. I knew he wasn’t real, but if I was to avoid punishment (I don’t remember what these punishments were – probably something extremely lame), I had to do things in the correct order. If I was emptying the silverware tray in the dishwasher, everything had to be done in order: first knives, then forks, then spoons. If I accidentally missed a knife and came across it later, I was in violation of the rules. That’s really weird, right? And probably shows early signs of OCD. (Incidentally, the boss – not just an ordinary boss – but a KING! That’s right, my imaginary OCD helper was a king who took the time to instruct me on how to unload a dishwasher.) Glad you got a glimpse into my crazy?
This morning, when I went into my closet (where my clothes are hung in a certain order, of course, although I don’t think any royalty get royally pissed off when I hang my pants in the wrong place) I noticed that all of my pretty black heels have a slight sheen of dust on them. DUST. On my shoes. How does that even happen? (Well, I guess it’s been about a year since I’ve worn most of them.) That made me really sad.
I was walking today & caught a glimpse of a woman out of the corner of my eye. In my head I said, “she has really nice, thin legs.” And then I realized it was my reflection. Now I feel all happy, but also like I should probably try to remember that more often. Or at least wear these jeans more often!
