Magic, and Other Perversity

Or, The Girl Who Mistook Her Pocket Knife for a Phone

How exactly is it that a set of leggings or shoes that are definitely, most assuredly black in the bedroom (yes, with the lights on) and even in front of the bathroom mirror --generally unerring at picking up any unflattering flaw-- suddenly become navy the minute I step out the front door? I think I shall have to purge my closet and drawers of anything navy, because it's that or start getting dressed on the back patio. Meanwhile, someone more vain would take the damn hose off to look less of a right charlie, and someone more practical would shrug and keep them for warmth, but middling me, I believe I shall just fret over it all day. I suppose I could cut one leg off. Off the hose, I mean. Otherwise it would have to be both. Legs, that is.

And sometime between the drive in to work (ethnically correct dancing in Phinney Ridge tonight, ergo must have car) and walking out of the parking structure, my phone teleported from my left jacket pocket, where I was sure I had it, to the kitchen counter at home, where Hal very sweetly verified it was. The lump in my pocket turned out to be my Wenger.

Furthermore, Naturalizers or not, and better for pivoting turns or not, the day to start breaking in a pair of shoes is probably not the same day you plan to spend two hours dancing in them. I'm praying that wearing brown shoes with navy stockings will be punishment enough for my sins. Why didn't I just persist until I found a pair of nude hose? God I'm a mess.

Meanwhile, The Mountain was out behind Microsoft for the first time in a while. I never stop marveling at the piercing, almost erotic shock of beauty at first sight. "Hel-LO, Gorgeous," says I.