Feb. 23rd, 2004

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I made myself late to work trying to figure out what to wear to Pirates of Penzance tonight. (Well, the Express helped. The excuse was "troubles on the Brown Line". I know that a substation failure is causing delays on the Ravenswood spur, by why should that affect a train that doesn't even run on that line? Because it's the CTA, that's why. But I digress...) On the way here, I noticed that the slacks I have on have become high-waters. Fortunately, if I wear them uncomfortably low, it's not so noticeable.

Sitting at my desk, I noticed something in my shirt pocket. It turned out to be the ticket stub from the previous opera--meaning that the dress shirt I selected from among so many other possibilities is, in fact, the exact same one I wore last time. Underneath the stub was a wad of paper that had been through the wash. Unfolded, it turned out to be another opera ticket stub. So everyone else on the subscription as me and who notices these things will think I have only two or three dress shirts to my name. And that I don't have any pants that fit me.

It's a damn good thing I don't care what anyone else thinks of me.

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