Yesterday on the way to a meeting, I almost committed suicide. It was all because of my pilgrimage to the Ladies Room in Macy’s.
I was slightly early for my meeting, so I took an uneventful stroll through Macy’s to the restroom. When I entered, my eyes fell on something that caused me to lapse into a state of unparalleled trauma; I searched for the nearest sharp object to plunge into my chest to divert my attention from what appeared before me. All I found was a discarded Macy’s catalog and a small child waiting for her mother. The small child ran and hid behind one of the lounge chairs.
What turned my usually cheerful nature into that of torment and hopelessness was a person, or what was once a person, who stood before a full length mirror, not to brush her hair or perhaps apply a coat of lip gloss, but to reach a meaty hand down into her onion-skin-thin, black leggings to adjust who-knows-what on her Jupiter size butt.
Yes, she weighed about eight hundred pounds and her top portion was stuffed into an equally thin, black, you-guessed-it, tankini.
It was too much for a delicate person such as myself. There was an oversize stall for the handicapped, which was unoccupied, but stupers (short for unsurprisingly stupid persons) do not mind displaying stupidity in public.
As you may imagine, I stumbled out and onto the street. Due to my sudden post-traumatic stress disorder, I lost my way to the meeting. I could not remember the block where the office building I was to go to was located and found myself lost in the red-light district of Santa Barbara (now, I know that those of you who have visited Santa Barbara are thinking: there is no red-light district. In fact, as one walks on the main drag towards the posh hotels and the beach, there is an adult book store on the right hand side as well as a sketchy Thai food restaurant).
I finally came to my senses and made it to my meeting, three minutes late. But really, do we not think before we dress ourselves, at least when we step out in public?
Admittedly, I once went out in public, wearing my shirt inside-out, but in all fairness, it was at the break of dawn and one of my children was rushing me.
When we are slim, we should think before we dress, and the same goes for the times we put on weight, no matter if it’s five or five hundred pounds. And please don’t adjust your privates in an open space of any kind where there are others present. I’ve read that even the heartiest plants wilt under such conditions. Let’s keep stupidity hidden to the extent we can.
Please think.
Keli
Keli@counterfeithumans.com
I carried my usual Rhode Island size handbag, along with a large satchel, which I carry instead of a briefcase because it’s far more fashionable and attractive than an ordinary briefcase filled with boring papers and colorless files. My satchel houses lip gloss, hairbrushes, coupons, post-its, a small book of quotations, my recyclable lunch bag, a reusable, 32 oz. water bottle, and a pair of running shoes and socks for those beautiful afternoons when one must stop working and take a walk. Oh yes, and a few files now and then.
I didn’t exactly lose it; I just couldn’t find it. I searched my purse and satchel. No phone.
While pondering the fate of my phone, I briefly considered the various missing sock theories. These theories are based on the fact that a matched pair of socks goes into the laundry or maybe even into the sock drawer, and one of the mates disappears, often never to be seen again. I didn’t take any of the explanations seriously. Come on, the Black Hole? Aliens? Time travelers? Sand men? Besides, my phone did not undergo any type of wash and rinse cycle. I decided to cross the street while taking deep breaths (inhale for 7 seconds; hold for 7 seconds; exhale for 7 or whatever number suits your fancy and lungs) to ponder the fate of my phone.
This lovely trinket is not an exact replica of my actual string bracelet (which I’m currently sporting); mine is homemade and spun of exactly two hastily twisted together threads, in eye-catching colors, and slips off my hand now and then, but only when I’m not paying proper attention, in the shower, or changing clothes. This slippage is appreciated because it constantly reminds me of the purpose of the bracelet which is to stay aware, keep a positive attitude and think.
This emerald ring by Cartier is a good deal heavier than my bracelet, so slippage would be a non-issue and its dazzling, sparkly color may be just what one needs to make the stupers and their idiotic antics pale in comparison. If jewelry is not your thing, how about this:
A castle with surrounding moat, (piranhas optional). This type of real estate is a surefire method to keep stupers away. Unfortunately, there are no guarantees once one leaves the castle to go grocery shopping or to the post office or other popular stuper-infested destination spots. Idiots are at large in most public arenas.
Sapphire and diamond cuff-links that decorate the end of one’s sleeves are enough to grab and keep your attention and remind you to think, not so much, “Did I actually spend almost $3000 dollars for these stunning, vintage (1940s) collectible links?”, but “It’s a good thing I bought these rare, authentic cuff-links. They remind me to appreciate the good things in life, like thinking and a positive attitude.”
Turbo Carreras, and similar luxury vehicles, easily take your focus off idiots, especially when in red.