24 July 2006
I own one belt. Only one. Mostly because I never tuck in my shirts (I believe only stick figures can tuck in and not look like a muffin tops), but I do acknowledge that sometimes, certain outfits look finished off if you have a belt on. So I have one. It is black. Very all purpose, goes with all my black shoes, also essential to keeping certain pairs of pants from puckering out weird in front as these are lean times (financially, not physically) and I just can't trash a pair of pants because one of the two clasps fell off. Obviously someone in a parallel universe thinks this belt is pretty fantastic too, as it appears to have been sucked through a black hole that developed in my bedroom this weekend. I know this because neither my dresser, my hamper, or the monster under the bed has shown signs of consuming said belt. [Is "neither" to be used only when followed by two options? This is now bothering me, but I can't think of an alternative word. Yes, I am a bizarre person.] Jim and the pumpkin princess have orders to keep an eye out for it today while I'm at work, and in the meantime, if you see a girl constantly tugging at her shirt to make sure it covers her pants and their half broken fasteners as much as possible, that's me. Say hello. Tell me you understand. I swear I'm normal.