OK, it's been two weeks. But I really don't even need to tell you that, do I? And I don't need to tell you what I've been doing, either, do I? No, I don't.
And I don't need to keep asking rhetorical questions, either, because not only do I already know the answers, so do you.
This is because I have become you.
Want proof? How about this: Like Blackbird, I'm constantly taking pictures with a digital camera.* Like Jasmine, I'm spending a lot of time mooching around Chicago. Like Susie Sunshine, much of this time has been spent in parking garages wondering where the hell my car is.
It gets worse--like Badger, I have just embarked on a long and costly Target run (well, costly for Target, anyway; you could sneeze in a Neiman Marcus and it would cost you what I just spent.) And I was in a state of bliss the whole time. I mean, sure, I told myself I was going there to buy children's birthday presents, but then I was all Halloween paper plates! Yes! Halloween candy! Throw it in the cart! Work out clothes! Sweet! Oooh, hair styling stuff is on sale! And then I found the perfect el cheapo knock off of a Marc Jacobs' bag, so of course I had to buy it. (For those who are interested: actually I bought it in black, or more accurately, a pearly sort of charcoal gray.)
Like Fiddledee, I am a busty, freckly brunette currently taking almost daily yoga classes. And scarily enough, she practically had to kidnap me to get me to start doing it--but I like it. A lot. So not only am I her doppelganger, I have Stockholm Syndrome.
And that's not the scariest part. The scariest part is that like Joke, I just bought two products designed to clean, shine, and generally love up the interior of my car. Yeah, I know--he has car cleaning stuff like I have lipsticks, and two products won't impress him--but frankly, I'm pretty surprised at myself.
So basically, if you're reading this, the chances are I'm going to become you very soon.
--P.
*Unlike Blackbird, I can't get it together to upload them.
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