I ended up getting invited to two things last night, because apparently Tuesday is the hot night now or something, and the point is that over the course of the evening, I had a glass of Prosecco and then two glasses of chardonnay, because I’m a girl. Then at my now-usual wakeup time of 4 a.m., I had a splitting headache and slept in this morning.
There was a time I could have three drinks in preparation for my workday. When did I get so wimpy?
So write fast I must, but I hated to leave you without the stunning results of our StitchFix polls yesterday. It would appear that about 355 of you voted, which is a pretty good turnout when I had (lemme go see) 1,430 readers yesterday. According to my maths, 407% of people participated.
A stunning 88% of you voted that my boss, fmr., keep that bird shirt. I hope she perches on that decision and spends some bills on this shirt.
The distressed jeans caused some distress, and oh, lort, June, are you gonna do this throughout? Only 55% said to keep them, which distresses me out. June stop.
We were double-breasted on the coat, too. It was pretty much half and half (49% yes, 45% no) on whether it should stay or should it go, now. If it goes it will be double (breasted) and if it stays it will be double (breasted, still).
That’s it, June. I’m leaving.
At least we were all in agreement that we hated a wrinkle in time, over here. A weird 1.36% voted she should keep this. I’d like to hear from this elusive 1.36%. Do you also hate chocolate and Tom Hanks?
And, finally, we didn’t link to this cuff much. 58% said to unhand the cuff.
Oh, June. You shoulda stuck to waitressing. For you were a stellar and unharried waitress with the patience of Job and the focus to remember what your tables wanted.
Did I ever tell you about the time I cried because the soup changed? Remind me.
Sometimes I have nightmares that I’m waitressing again. I’m at some soda gun going, How did I get back here?
Anyway. Thanks for participating, you 355 or so who did. Why didn’t you others? What a bunch of cranks. Perhaps the rest of you are men.
Yesterday, my boss, fmr., and I were discussing her photos on my blog, and the reactions we were getting to the clothes, and my boss’s boss, also fmr., happened upon us.
“I’d rather…go to the dentist, yes, go to the dentist, than have a bunch of people tell me what clothes to buy,” he said. Keep in mind this was the guy who gave me the eagle calendar. All of a sudden we gotta listen to THIS guy.
Boss, fmr. and I stared at him blankly.
“Well, then how do you shop?” we asked him. Pretty much at the same time, like those twins in The Shining.
“How you shop is, you decide you need something, and you go out and get it.”
We stared at him blankly some more. Kind of like those twins in The Shining. Still. Occasionally, after that stunning announcement, I’d kind of see my Eagles-Loving Former Boss’s Boss and then an elevator with blood pouring out of it would cross my vision.
“Now, what now?” I asked.
“If I’m shopping alone, I at least take a selfie in the dressing room and send it to someone for their opinion,” I told him.
“Yeah, of course,” agreed my boss, fmr.
“You’re kidding,” said my boss’s boss, former, lover of eagles. And their calendars.
Later, I asked Ned about this.
“How you shop is, you say, wow I’m out of blue jeans (Ned always calls them “blue jeans” like he’s Grampa Joe or whatever) and then you go out and get the same kind of blue jeans you’ve been buying since 9th grade,” said Ned.
Blood. Elevator. Somewhere in Florida an old man is having a vision under a painting of a naked woman.
“How is it that we even exist on the same planet?” asked Former Boss of All Eagles.
Anyway, I gotta go. If I’m going to have a wine headache, I’m going to have it at work, where I can complain about it to the world at large.