I did not put on pants yesterday. It's that time of the year when I don't have to wear pants. Instead, I put on my old-man-shorts and hobbled out to the farmer's market in an ankle wrap and plastic flip flops (turns out, it's hard to wear shoes with an ankle wrap). Normally, I'd make a self-deprecating remark about my life and wardrobe choices but on Sunday, I stepped out with confidence that somewhere out there in my neighborhood, just a few blocks north, was someone else probably also not wearing pants, has a bum ankle, wears glasses, and is generally aging terribly. They say misery loves company, misfits do as well.
(Special shout out to Ilene, who is aging gracefully, and Brian, who is not.)
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(at Ilene's birthday dinner, though it was not her birthday)
Ilene: We were getting ready to leave and these two would not put pants on.
Meghan: [looks aghast]
Moi: To clarify, we were not wearing pants in separate apartments.
Brian: And we were wearing shorts.
Meghan: Gross. I find shorts so uncomfortable.
Everyone: [looks aghast]
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