Thursday, October 4, 2007

Drink it, Don't Wear it

I spilled a significant amount of coffee on myself in Borders. LOTS of it. From the crotch on down.

I'm doing revisions. I have my laptop, my manuscript, my magically disappearing markers, a chocolate cherry scone, and my cell phone all neatly laid out on a table (tho not my "favorite" table--I had to go through the trouble of dragging two tables together). I've been reworking the same scene for over three hours. I'm totally on a roll.

What do I do? Pack up and go home? Or sit in coffee-soaked jeans?

Wait! I have a pair of shorts in the car! Yay!

No, wait! It's October. It's a cold night. People are sitting around in jeans and jackets. And I haven't shaved my legs since August.


I change into the shorts. I emerge from the bathroom looking like I'm headed for the beach with my hairy white legs and fuzzy black flip-flops. I hold my head high. Only one person stares.

I smile sunnily. He quickly averts his eyes.

I finish the scene. And stay for three more hours.

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