Last night after my aborted attempt to be a karaoke diva, I let myself into Lesty's apartment and helped myself to a pile of cupcakes that were sitting on the kitchen counter.
Funny how one can be covered in sticky, chocolate frosting when one is drunk and not even notice.
There is frosting on my doorknob. There was frosting on my cat. There was frosting on my laptop. I found frosting in my hair this morning. I was so covered in the goo I imagine I was starting to look like a giant vanilla cupcake.
On my way to work, I noticed that my puffy jacket had chocolate poo-like substance all down the front of it. Thankfully, dried frosting flicks right off...
Then, on the subway, a nice lady pointed out to me, with a disgusted look on her face, that I had "something" on my sleeve. I looked down, and it looked like someone had had the aftermath of a Mexican meal on my sleeve.
Of course, I feel the need to tell her that it's cupcake frosting. I tell her this whole elaborate story about how the cupcake frosting ended up on my sleeve. Which makes me look like I do indeed have poo on myself.
To her horror, I flicked it off my sleeve, and some of it landed on her chest.
I think it's time to take this coat to the cleaners. Let them think it's poo. I just don't care anymore.
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