Ripped from the headlines of my life

John: You were missed on Easter. We did nothing.

Me: Went to the farmers market on Easter. Bought some crazy super juice with alfalfa hoping it would be life changing. It's sitting in the fridge.

John: Juice is never good. I once threw a jamba juice from the car… I just knew it wouldn’t change anything.

Will wonders never cease

I find it fascinating what clothes people take to the dry cleaners. Obviously people bring items that are important or fancy or are things that require special care. I have even taken shirts that I am too lazy to iron (I kind of suck at ironing) but they are nicer shirts that don't look right all "just rolled out of bed" wrinkled.

Today I saw a giant, bright pink Smurf t-shirt on a hanger covered in plastic.

Hmmmmm.
Well, of course. You wouldn't want it to fade or the silk screening to crack. You have to protect that shit cuz you can't find smurf t-shirts anymore. It is like a vintage concert t-shirt. It has meaning and sentimentality. It brings you back. To those wild times. Those wild smurf watching times.

It was all by itself (they must have made a special trip) so I couldn't see what other clothes they felt worthy of dry cleaning.

It was grumpy smurf. He's so funny, that little blue guy with his arms all crossed.

I was dying to see who it belonged to. I waited in my car for awhile but they never showed up. I really want to know everything about them. Where do they wear it? When did they get it? How did it become such an important piece? Do they have others?

WHO BRINGS A SMURF T-SHIRT TO THE DRY CLEANERS???

This will haunt me for awhile.

I double dare you.

Everyone has their own quirks and a private list of things they won't allow themselves to wear because of a specific area they are microscopically obsessed with. I'm not saying it is right (or rational) I'm saying it exists. It can't just be me.

As my areas of scrutiny begin to shift with my age I am determined to let one weird obsession go for every one I take on. I mean seriously, I can't just add nonsense. That would be crazy. So I'm bartering. If I'm going to analyze the crepe-like skin on my arm, I have to give up obsessing about the plucked chicken look of the skin on my legs. I do have to dare myself to wear different things, like a dress with bare legs. Now I do wear boots with it so my leg isn't entirely bare but still, I was showing an entirely different part of my leg. No portion of my thighs have seen the sun since the early 80's so imagine their shock when I wore cut off jean shorts (SHORTS!) with boots. And imagine how pale.

Scary.

And yet, it was oddly liberating.