I wore a sweatshirt and sneakers today because I needed to be comfortable and yesterday's chill duped me into thinking that today would be equally nippy. And so there I was swathed in all my cotton glory when, lo, I fall off a chair and land on my bum in front of thirty people. A chorus of voices sprang up all around. "Oh, Julia! Are you ok?" Yes, good people, I am fine, thank you. My body just seems to have forgotten how to sit on a chair. Carry on. Reader, if there is an absolute truth about me, it is this: I move with the grace of an angel.
I've been avoiding coffee for nearly five months now, but tonight, I was struggling, so at 7:30 I dashed into a Starbucks. It must have been the sweatshirt, because the barista flirted like Julia was going out of style and appeared with not one, but two lattes. To quote the confident fellow, "it was for my doorman or boyfriend or whomever I wished." I laughed. I must have had a full decade on him.
So sweatshirts. I need a new one. This one is interfering with my coolness aura.