Well. You would not believe how long it took me to get dressed this morning, Internet. Actually, you probably would, because I’m going to tell you about it right now: two hours. Two. Hours. Over two hours, in fact, because what’s thirty minutes or so between friends?
To be fair, that two hours does include the time I spent in the shower (I do a lot of my thinking in the shower. I’m not too skilled at thinking so it can take a while), drying my hair, applying makeup and painting my toenails, but even so, I have to admit that a good proportion of the time was spent putting on clothes and then removing them again. Seriously, people think I work from home because I’m lazy: it’s actually because I can’t seem to dress myself without assistance. I doubt there are many employers out there who would appreciate a 9am phone call saying "Um, yeah, I’ll be a few hours late today. My waistband stretcher still hasn’t turned up and I hate my thighs. Also: any chance of a raise so I can hit up the clothes shops on the way in?
Gah. I am an abject failure. I mean, do you know how humiliating it is to have to contact the House of Bath to say WHERE IS MY WAISTBAND STRETCHER? I’M NOT GETTING ANY THINNER HERE, YOU KNOW. Hate Autumn.* Hate my clothes. Hate House of Bath. Gah, gah, and thrice gah. And this is just me on an ordinary day, when no one actually sees me, anyway. On Saturday, we’re going to Orocco Pier for lunch with both sets of parents. I should probably start getting dressed now, no?
I am also very, very busy. I have about a gazillion articles to write before the end of the week, and my regular Project O’Doom for The Scotsman is due halfway through next month, which means that PRs all over the land are probably thinking up mean things to say to me as we speak. I was in the Evening News yesterday, though, talking about weddings, so that’s nice. Now I’m off to change my outfit again…
* Not technically Autumn yet, but anyway.