Deflect the Blame

Sometimes it takes an innocent question to completely throw you.

Not long after getting in to work this morning, the local detachment of the Fashion Police (a.k.a. Dahlia, the office manager) questioned me...

Dahlia: So, out of white t-shirts?
Me: Huh?
Dahlia: Under the golf shirt... you have a red t-shirt. What gives?
Me: Oh, that... it's cuz the hat I'm wearing to golf in this afternoon [a snazzy Abercrombie visor, btw..] is beige and red.
Dahlia: Let me see your pants [not nearly as odd when you know I was sitting down up until this point in the conversation.. or should I say "inquisition"... and so I stand up to show her my beige pants] Oh, okay...

Then I realize how much fucking thought, no matter how subconscious, I actually put into this outfit. And it scared me. In fact, even using the word "outfit" scares me.

I clearly hung out with Patty too much last weekend...

That's me excuse, and I'm sticking to it!