My father has this thing about wanting to get on my nerves. He likes to rile me up. I know this and usually try not to give him the pleasure but some days.... You know how when you walk in the door you don't want anyone messing with you? That's so me. I don't want to talk, I don't want to be bothered. I don't want you touching my hair, I don't want you messing with me. Rattling off the prices of flights I can't take for 3 minutes set me off. STOP TALKING!!
While leaving church today I decided what I'm going to give up for Lent: talking about people's clothes. It's a hot mess. I just see so much horridity walking the aisles. So many fashion NO, NO NOOOOOOOs!! It's just so hard for me to hold my tongue and not describe in pain-staking detail how horrible someone looks... before I even get in my car after church I want to do this. Church is the place I come in contact with a dizzying array of bad fashion. So I'm giving it up for Lent. I cannot tell you what the next week or so will be like until Lent. Mardi Gras I may just start talking about every white leather calf-high with matching white leather jacket clomping alongside her girl in the red pumps with no stockings even though it's snowing and 25 degrees. See what I mean? No more for Lent!