Episode 36. In which I surprise myself.

Yesterday I surprised myself.  I didn’t jump out at myself from behind the door or anything, I thought a thought, and then reacted, then thought, shit that wasn’t like me.

In Brighton Station, on my way home from work, I saw a girl and thought to myself, what the fuck is she wearing?  This  surprised me in itself because I’m no clothes horse, I don’t judge people on what they’re wearing.  Well, you know, I jump to conclusions like we all do, but I don’t presume to imagine that I know anything about them on the inside. I content myself with “god she’s trying hard,” or “he must’ve had his flesh removed to fit into those jeans,” or “why is it that people desperate to be individual all look the same?”.  I might assume someone’s a boyracer but I wouldn’t dream of arguing the point because it’s just my first impression and he might be on a fancy dress night out for all I know, and I wouldn’t throw eggs at someone just for dressing like a Tory.  This girl, it was total brain overload, I have no clue what the hell she was thinking.

She was wearing one of those puffy coats that stopped at her waist, and skinny jeans, no big thing, half of Brighton’s wearing those things these days.  It was the footwear that astounded me.  Knee-high boots, laced up the back, mother of fucking pearl fake croc skin, with two-inch kitten heels.

I must admit, I laughed right out loud, in public, looking right at her.  But I don’t feel bad.  My guess is she gets that a lot.

But it wasn’t like me.

Diabetic Moment of the Day

This.  That is all.


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