December 9th, 2005
Pinky the Retarded Clown, At Your Service
Last night I had a lapse of judgement so extreme it resulted in a full-fledged early-morning outfit crisis.
I had carefully picked out the following ensemble and placed it on the chair by my bed: A long, strapless dark pink flowy top. On top of that I planned to wear a short, black 3/4" sleeve black shirt. Cropped jeans that I planned to wear rolled up to just below the kneee. Converse high-tops — 3 different shades of pink — and calf-length white socks with two dark pink stripes at the top, pulled up.
One question maybe you can help me with: What in Pete’s name was I thinking?????? When I put it on this morning and looked in the mirror, I actually burst out laughing. I looked like Porky Pig, or a five year old, or a circus clown named Pinky. All I needed was a little pink cap with a pinwheel on top. I tried to find a picture on the Internet to show you the image that came to mind when I saw myself. I pictured a fat, chipper little slightly retarded boy going, "Wheeeeee!" I couldn’t find a picture, so I drew one:
Also, I am including a great shot of Porky Pig, since he and I were clearly on the same type of drug when we chose our look. If only I had taken a photo of myself. You would have laughed and laughed.
What ensued next was a frantic pulling-out of everything in my closet. Another question for you: Why is it that I seem to have more clothes than Imelda Marcos has shoes, and yet nothing matches anything else? Clearly I have a 
shopping handicap. Put me in a store and I’m like a crow, just going after shiny objects with no real purpose.
So here I am, wearing the most boring thing in my closet because at that point it was all I trusted myself to put on, and I’m supposed to meet friends for drinks after work. Damn.
As a side note, my co-worker saw me drawing that picture and said, "Oh, are you drawing something?" She came closer, and I don’t think I even need to tell you her reaction. OK, I will. Laughter to the point of tears, and a little fear, I think. I mean, we’re sitting at work, answering phones, editing things, being professional, and all the while I am carefully drawing a picture of a chubby retarded boy with a pinwheel hat.
