I was dragging the trash out to the curb this evening, when a woman walked by and gave me a funny look. This, I realized, was due to the fact that I was wearing my Mom’s old scrub pants, a bleach-stained t-shirt, and slippers. Also, my hair was standing up like Don King’s.
I swear, some days the only difference between me and my neighborhood homeless guy is that I still have all my teeth.
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Sounds like business casual in my house.
…and an apartment.
I used to live within about 5 miles of a giant flea market. I loved it, because I could roll out of bed, hungover as hell, and still be the best looking guy there because:
a. I have teeth
b. I was wearing shoes.