When I was in school there was this Docker's commercial, something along the lines of "nice pants! Dockers?". I'm thinking of it today because someone in the ladies room at Borders started a five minute conversation about my AE jeans. She was wearing the same ones, and gee they fit like a glove. It was quite sweet actually, the kind of conversation you can only have in a chain store restroom. The point is the conversation reminded me of one morning at the bus stop where kid a says to kid b "those are nice pants! Dockers?". And kid b is al "yeah, why" because kid a is the older brother of kid b's best friend and pretty much kid a exists to torture kid b. So then kid a turns to kid b and says "maybe you should lose the sticker?".
I live in fear of those stupid clear plastic stickers with the size imprinted. All because of that one day at the bus stop. The terrors of a public school education. I'm more than a little paranoid that one day I'll show up at work to some important meeting with one of those L stickers emblazoned on my chest. Or a twelve short on my ass. Which is unlikely because those stickers are usually on the front of pants, but my paranoia can't be reasoned with. When mrs. bookstore bathroom commented on my jeans, all I could think was that I left a sticker or a tag on. It's been many wearings and washings since I got the pants and still all I could think of was that day at the bus stop witnessing the humiliation only a best friends' brother can produce so well. It was strange, how some memories just blindside you and you're left wondering why your subconscious held on to a memory about khakis for so long.
And then I bought a pineapple. Segue way who? I went to the market hungry and I came home with a pineapple. And brown 'n' serve rolls. Those were my impulse items. I guess it's better than like 5 cakes or a chocolate fountain, but still I have to eat a whole pineapple by myself now. I opened up my Mark Bittman who suggested that my pineapple was probably under or over ripe and pretty much a lost cause but when I cut it open it was ok. It's quite yummy actually, but enough work not to be a regular on my list. Unlike the rolls. I'm cooking a reasonably holiday-y dinner tomorrow so it seemed reasonable to get the devil's dinner rolls. The bleached white flour dipped in butter and served with butter and possibly also gravy rolls of heart disease waiting to happen, yum. Happy Easter!