Just what a revolutionary costume has to say

On the back end of the Xmas Xtravaganza here. While I am accomplishing some long-delayed organizational tasks and setting up the new blog, I’ve logged more time on the goofing end of the scale, catching up on my reading, whipping through the Netflix queue, and staying up till all hours just because I can, all balanced with bouts of strenuous napping.

Hence, my attire has been appropriately relaxed, the extent of which I hadn’t fully appreciated till this morning. Realizing I hadn’t checked the mail yesterday, I went outside to do so without any thought given to what I was wearing. On my way back up the driveway, I saw my uptight homobigot least favorite neighbor giving me even more stink eye than usual, which caused me to reflect a bit on my costume du jour: clunky pair of new high top hiking boots that I’m trying to break in, paint-stained and outlandishly droopy sweat pants which (scarily) used to fit a year and half ago and now (happily) won’t stay on without a sash borrowed from my bathrobe, ancient green souvenir tshirt from my first trip to Provincetown, missing the P and final N, topped off with a fleece vest the color of which is rarely seen outside of Home Depot.

All I managed in the moment was my usual cheery “bite me” wave, but my l’esprit d’escalier comeback was “Hey, blame the petty criminals you voted into office for your declining property values, not my fashion forward non-conformity!”

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