Ugh
life would be so much eaiser if I could do at cons what I do at home.
Ie: wear the same clothes for a week.
Don't you dare judge me. I change before I leave the house.
Most of the time.
I have no idea why my bag smells vaugely of cat piss; but I do know that last time it made all my clothes, and the hotel room smell like it too.
I could wash it, but it's mostly plastic, so I wouldn't want to put it in the dryer, and I need to be packed tonight. So I dig out my little bottle of Fabreze (which mother denied having in the house,) and tried to use it apropriately.
Now suffering from olfactory bombardment, I haul said bag out and hang it from the clothesline. *sniff* I still smell like Fabreze. I should have listened to mother and filled my bag with coffee beans and vanilla. But cat pee is like radioactive bad smell, with a heck of a half-life, and sometimes, the only way to deal with chemical warfare is more chemical warfare. I will check my bag in a half hour, and hope it's packable.
In the mean time; I decide what to wear.
Which may be a problem. You see, I decided to give up dressing like a normal person for lent. Technicaly, Lent doesn't start untill after mardigrais, which is at the end of the month this year, but honestly, it's the spirit of the thing.
So I say 'okay, I'll wear this; in theory, it'll be cute' and my legs say 'hell no, it's still winter. We want covering, you damn dirty ape.'
'But c'mon,' I say 'you're so pretty I want to show you off!'
'we may be pretty, but you're still a cow.'
'oh that's just not called for.'
'Well, maybe not a cow, but nice gams is not going to distract everyone from the fact you're trying to dress in a style you're not suited for.' I pout. my legs stare at me smugly. 'Oh' they add. 'your hair has no body, too, stop thinking it does.'
'leave me out of this.' says my hair. 'I haven't been brushed recently.'
Once again, I come to the conclusion that I'm not a person, I'm a committee.
Ie: wear the same clothes for a week.
Don't you dare judge me. I change before I leave the house.
Most of the time.
I have no idea why my bag smells vaugely of cat piss; but I do know that last time it made all my clothes, and the hotel room smell like it too.
I could wash it, but it's mostly plastic, so I wouldn't want to put it in the dryer, and I need to be packed tonight. So I dig out my little bottle of Fabreze (which mother denied having in the house,) and tried to use it apropriately.
Now suffering from olfactory bombardment, I haul said bag out and hang it from the clothesline. *sniff* I still smell like Fabreze. I should have listened to mother and filled my bag with coffee beans and vanilla. But cat pee is like radioactive bad smell, with a heck of a half-life, and sometimes, the only way to deal with chemical warfare is more chemical warfare. I will check my bag in a half hour, and hope it's packable.
In the mean time; I decide what to wear.
Which may be a problem. You see, I decided to give up dressing like a normal person for lent. Technicaly, Lent doesn't start untill after mardigrais, which is at the end of the month this year, but honestly, it's the spirit of the thing.
So I say 'okay, I'll wear this; in theory, it'll be cute' and my legs say 'hell no, it's still winter. We want covering, you damn dirty ape.'
'But c'mon,' I say 'you're so pretty I want to show you off!'
'we may be pretty, but you're still a cow.'
'oh that's just not called for.'
'Well, maybe not a cow, but nice gams is not going to distract everyone from the fact you're trying to dress in a style you're not suited for.' I pout. my legs stare at me smugly. 'Oh' they add. 'your hair has no body, too, stop thinking it does.'
'leave me out of this.' says my hair. 'I haven't been brushed recently.'
Once again, I come to the conclusion that I'm not a person, I'm a committee.