Apart from the ball game, it was kind of a long and shitty week. I went to bed last night angry at a coworker, tired and dreading the toil, toil, toil, daily misery.
I bucked up a bit during the day with the realization I’d be getting a reprieve of two days. Better yet, I had agreed to meet with someone at lunch who’s considering a career change to live more like me. Yeah, I had to come up with nice, professional, networking ways to not scream, “DON’T FUCKING DO IT,” and then show her the razor-thin lines on my arm from where I secretly cut at my desk in order to feel.
At the end of today, I ran out of the building like when the final bell rings and class is dismissed and it’s late in June and you don’t fucking have to go back.
Upon coming home there was a package for me. Ah, that special joy of mail that isn’t bills or the expected. Hand-addressed and clearly hand packed. What? For me?
I ripped open a true mystery from the inimitable, go see her and her Saab, not together, in the newly released 21, Dorothy Dwyer.
TA DA!
It’s awesomeness includes shiny, sequined cardinals, shiny silver snowflakes (or maybe stars), a removable fake fur collar, a zipper (the hallmark of the finest cardigans) and pom poms on the zipper pull. Check out the details on this puppy.
It’s the paragon of sweaterdom. It is the uber-cardigan. The Alpha and Omega of adorable and knitted.
It is also the agreed on reminder of the women Dot and I don’t want to become (or I guess look like). Its the cutesy, middle-aged woman look that says, “Hey world, I may not be using my vagina for anything anymore and don’t plan to try, and really, if rags and Kleenex boxes were comfortable outerwear, it would by my in look for this season (and until I die).” I plan to wear the new sweater with my new jeans.
(I honestly want to wear the sweater to work. I want to see the reactions, especially here in the Golden West where irony was lost somewhere on the route of manifest destiny and never made it to the coast.)
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I gotta say , those pictures make it look really glamorous ! Lest you think I sent you the only embroidered sweater I had possession of, I have a nifty sweater with lipsticks, shoes and mirrors on it . Don’t worry , I only wear it at home . . . . . .