Shirt Choice Proves Ironic

Or maybe purely co-inky-dink-y. It's too early for Alanis Morisette bouts of theological discussion.

This has been the first full week back at work after my Softball Faux Paux/Knee Popping Extravaganza, and it’s been tiring and severely, mind-numbing, muscle-spasming painful. But it was my own stupid, wanna-be normal fault, so I take my punishment with as little whining and bitching as possible. For those of you who know me, you'll nod when I say that at the least this is annoying, at the most it’s a great way to learn new cuss words and frighten small children. (Nod, damn you!)

So TGI-Frickin’-F everybody! It’s the unofficial silly t-shirt day.

The week before last’s tee, which proved to be bizarrely prophetic, consisted of:

1. A cutesy wootsey cartoon bunny head - A tribute to Conner the Wonder Chunk? A love of strategically placed ears? The caricaturish manifestation of my desire to be light and fluffy and accepted wherever geeks are bold perhaps?


2. Pink crossbones – Doomie doom doom, apparently; no conundrum there.


3. Oh and whatever animal t-shirt comes from, of course

This morning, through a haze of night-time pain killer remnants and a severe case of eye-crunchies, I opted for an old favorite. Perfectly worn in, with that comfy familiarity slack-off clothes tend to harbor, I left the house secure in the knowledge that tomorrow I could sleep in and cope with 5 days of pent up pain and frustration.

It wasn’t until I was already hobbling in the general direction of my office that the true significance of this particular choice hit me. My life is a series of obscure metaphors and bizarre happenstance, and just like the mediocre fun my witty little shirt advertises, I too travel very slowly down stairs.


I’m also fun for girls and boys, but that’s an entirely different post.