I have this theory that the more noticeable I make my clothing, the less noticeable I’ll be. Yellow’s a good color for this. It looks garish on most people (including myself), and it clashes wonderfully with the gray, sleepy morning. Today I’ve wrapped my too-tall, ugly-tall body in a too-big, ugly-bright yellow coat. My belly protrudes like half a lemon. I knitted myself a yellow hat the other week, and it is currently covering my thin brown hair, all the way down to the tops of my ears. The two yellows don’t quite match. When people look at me, all they’ll see is an obnoxious column of yellow, and then they’ll avert their eyes. They won’t see my pasty skin, my unfashionable glasses, my double chin. I am conspicuously inconspicuous.
Huzzah for writing in the first person. It's always a good exercise. Last night my roommate and I started a new Monday night tradition: "Wine and Drag Queens Night." We drank wine and watched RuPaul's Drag Race. It was a great deal of fun--just as much fun as our former Monday night tradition, "Soup & Prohibition Night." (We used to eat soup and watch Boardwalk Empire.) I don't think we could combine the two traditions. Our heads would explode with awesome.