My friend Amy Matayo frequently writes about the travails she faces in writing. One of her greatest laments is her wardrobe. Evidently, if I’m reading it right, she rarely goes beyond the yoga pants and a jersey level of dress. Given that Amy is beautiful, that’s not a huge tragedy. My writing wardrobe, on the other hand, scared the pizza guy pretty badly on Monday.
I understand why, and I apologize. You see, the corner of the room where I’m writing this week is pretty cold. It’s -6 outside right now, and there are two exterior walls within three feet of my chair. Mind you, there’s also a big radiator, but the cold walls are winning. Victorian houses have that lovely feature. I suppose if I turned on the fan over my head it would keep me a bit warmer, but I’m lazy and it dries my eyes out. (Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah. I know.)
I digress. The wardrobe for the day, the outfit that floored the pizza guy at the door, consisted of a pair of shorts, black tennis shoes with orange laces, a hoodie that says, “In God We Trust. All Others We Monitor” with my former rating insignia (CTI) emblazoned beneath the words, and my reindeer hat. Yes, I found it after I was pretty sure I’d thrown it away. Old Rudolph is missing an eye, but the thing is insulated and very warm. The nose was sticking out from under the hoodie, and my beard was tucked inside as well.
I regret that I have no picture to share with you of this illustrious addition to the long history of badly dressed authors. I will take a picture next time. It won’t be long, because I really like that outfit when I’m pounding out words. (continue reading)