said pants

it was even less bearable in the air-conditioned store today than at my decidedly un-air-conditioned house. this made me mad. so i attacked.
only what i actually attacked was my pants. with a pair of scissors.* they are now the ugliest corduroy shorts you have ever seen. especially when combined with the shoes and socks that i must wear for dress code and the fact that they had to stay knee-length... i looked kind of like a poor little german boy. with a very mean mother. and maybe failing eyesight. it was awesome.

apparently, my car was friends with said pants. and was not pleased with me for mutilating them so. and protested. because... it... refused... to... start. again. one day, i will cease to experience surprise when this happens. no, i promise, i will. i will now be optimistic and point out that at least it dies close to things at times when i have the opportunity to find other modes of transportation. and then i will ruin it, and point out that it has died three times in the last four weeks. and each death is, moreover, slightly different. this one, for instance, had more of the shudder than last time. perhaps it was simultaneously trying to expel me. i don't know. but can i let you in on a secret? i'm really getting fucking tired of this.


* never do this while said pants are still on your body. it ends even less well than you might originally expect.