On Friday, we had friends over for a casual dinner party. I took it upon myself to do all of the grocery shopping - a chore that naturally also involved a stop at the
mothership friendly neighbourhood liquor store. Even though there would only be six of us for dinner, I thought it was imperative that I fully replenish our bar before the guests arrived. So, did I buy an entirely unnecessary and dangerous quantity of booze for the evening? Let's let the picture from the next day answer that question:
So ... you're wearing a Cosby sweater?
No, that's my bruised arm.
But why are there so many threads coming out of it?
Barf. This blog should be called Jon but never John.
Har, har. I'm part Spanish - hair sometimes comes with the territory. You should have seen me before my mother dragged me to a waxer when I was 11. Until that point, everyday was Frida Kahlo Day.
I know. Can I get back to the story now?
So - what you see is a badly bruised arm and wrist. Are these pictures:
- A result of a drunken spill?
- What it looks like to be on the losing end of an inebriated fight?
- A "love stamp" that comes along with being one of Charlie Sheen's goddesses?
Heaven forbid that I not buy out the store. Or only purchase what I could reasonably Sherpa and just make a second trip for the rest. But, no, I didn't do that because the first suggestion would involve mental clarity and the second would require my lifelong nemesis, effort.
Jen = Idiot.