LIFE OF A SPAZ
Today I managed to spill a very, very large, hot coffee on myself. It was the clown car of coffees in the way it just kept pouring and pouring and pouring out of it's fairly tiny cup until I managed to cover my neck(?), hair, shirt, bra underneath, sweater, pants, underwear underneath, socks, shoes and then there was still enough to pour all over my desk and splash on to my white bag on the floor. It was totally bizarre how completely and entirely SOAKED I looked as if someone had dunked me in a dunk tank. It was so bad that I actually had to walk to H&M down the block and buy new clothes before my meeting. Not just a shirt. Not just a sweater but irratatingly enough an entirely new outfit down to socks. For the record-the new wing off of the H&M in mid-town complete with track lighting and a kicking stereo system and cage dancers and live animals has been entirely funded by ME thanks to my serial number of desperate purchases of similar nature on a regular basis.