Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Little Signs, Little Omens

I knew the day was going to be a rough one the minute I hit the door.

I was in such a rush to get out the door and look presentable for work that I got dressed in a haste. Deodorant? check. Teeth brushed? check. Clean socks? check. Lunch packed? check.

In my rush to dot the 'Is' of the morning, I neglected to put on the right pants.

Every girl has a closet full of a variety of black pants. The too-small black pants. The tight-to- show-off-the-booty-going-out black pants. The dressed-for-Grandma's-funeral black pants. Longer-than-shorts capri black pants, and of course the Summer-just-hits-the-ankles black pants.

I didn't realize just how wrong my pants were until I made it outside, about four minutes from when my bus was to arrive.

The chilly (although way warmer than recent days) wind hit my hairy ankles with a force that made me regret my mistake.

All day long I was trapped in a struggle, scooch the pants down and make them just barely touch the top of my shoes (and model a wonderful example of muffin top) or sack up and wear the pants the way a girl's supposed to, the fluffy fringe of my wintertime neglect just millimeters away from plain sight.


My own wardrobe malfunction, nagging and teasing me all day long, and I took it as a sign that the rest of my day would be pretty much effed.

I think we all operate on this premise. Life hands us little signs, little clues as to how a day's supposed to go. My mom swears she's in for good luck if she hears The Animals' The House of the Rising Sun on the radio. A couple times I got a major boost of happy endorphins when I crossed a passing breeze smelling like my long gone grandfather's cologne.

Don't you wonder what kind of sign, what kind of signal Britney Spears got to inspire her latest, bare-it-all hair style?

Despite all these figurative warning signs and hidden signals, I seriously question whether I should write the day off on the mornings I wear the too-short, ready for the flood black pants? Or is this an instance where God allows me to press the Easy button on my theological right of free will, a chance to say Woah! to the horses of fate and turn the wagons around for greener pastures?

Who cares if people might have noticed my High Waders.

Tomorrow I can get dressed again and put on a different pair of pants, and a different disposition.

Besides, it could be worse.

At least I didn't have to suffer with a load of bird poop from that pigeon that passed over me at Government Square this morning.


The Notorious N.A.T said...

Well I've been like a constant wardrobe malfunction since Monday. Seems I've done a bit too much eatin' since coming home from the big B. Suddenly my ass has exploded from large to mammoth and my gut is there to match. Egads. At least in your case you can think of the day as new and correct your malfunction. I've got to wait like 2 weeks before any puffiness aka fatness shall subside.

Kate The Great said...

Miss Nat- I am in the same boat.

That's why I'm giving up sugar for Lent.

Stand by for a relevant post, sometime this afternoon.

My cups runneth over... quite over.