I could do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day and today would still be considered a victory.
I could sit on the couch and watch the entirety of a Jersey Shore marathon.
I could lie on the carpet and try to catch Cheez-Its in my mouth.
I could spend the entire afternoon playing Solitare.
I could lay in bed and watch YouTube videos of kittens sneezing.
I could create a MySpace profile.
I could lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling for the rest of the day and today would still be a success.
Because I, ladies and gentlemen, bought pantyhose for my brother’s graduation, which is still two weeks away.
I did not wear the only pair I could find, ones that have been dried too many times, are held together with clear nail polish and hair spray, and are completely missing the crotch.
I did not buy a pair in the airport on the way to get my luggage.
I did not buy a pair at a gas station on the way to the event.
No, I bought a pair of pantyhose before the day of the event. Two weeks before, no less.* This was a feat of planning and responsibility of epic magnitude. Okay, so maybe it was more like I happened to walk by the hosiery display at Rite Aid while I was picking up some toilet paper because I’d gone for my morning pee and discovered that we were completely out of toilet paper and I was not going to “just use kleenexes” like Kyle suggested because, ew, that’s weird, and when I saw the display I thought, “Oh, shit, I should buy some pantyhose for Chris’ graduation so I don’t have to buy them from a gas station on the way to his graduation like I usually do.” But the point is I actually bought the fucking things. Which is, itself, a feat of planning and responsibility of epic magnitude.
I’m claiming today in the name of victory, bitches.
*Which means I now have two weeks to loose them, buy another pair at a gas station on the way to his graduation, and find them three months later. The point is, I bought them.