Cabin

Things to stir coffee with, in order of preference:
1. Spoon
2. Spork
3. Fork
4. Butter knife
5. Steak knife
6. My finger
7. Coffee straw

Using a coffee straw is about as effective as trying to cut your lawn with scissors.
No, not scissors, more like fingernail clippers.

Maybe I'm not doing it right.

Another thing I may not be doing right is Subway.

Whenever I go there, I always underestimate the memory capacity of the workers.
So when they ask me what else I want on my sandwich, I wait a reasonable amount of time between each item so I'm sure they don't forget anything.
"I'll have lettuce...and spinach...and green peppers...and onions..." etc.

But I wonder if I didn't, could they still do it? Is there an art or a pattern to the toppings table?
"I'll have lettucespinachgreenpeppersonionstomatoes and a generous portion of honey mustard."

I kind of feel like they're upset with me for not going faster, but then I don't want to go too fast.
I don't know the appropriate thing to do here.

I wish I could be an "everything-but" person like Mike is.
"Everything but spinach and cucumbers."
But I think my "everything but" list would be longer than my other list.

Another thing I may not be doing right is clothes.

I've been afflicted by a hardly fictional phenomenon known as Fat Arm Syndrome that occurs in females between the ages of 20 and 94. It's not contagious, but it is self-esteem killing.

Allow me to tell you a true story.

I woke up this morning and needed to match some brown pants. I pulled a shirt from my closet--

You: Hold up, Allie J. I thought you were trying this whole, "I pick out my clothes every Sunday so I don't have to spend time waffling between fashion choices in the morning."

Haha. You said waffling.
I like waffles.
And pancakes.
Make them blueberry.

Anyway, yes, you, I still do that, but just as Mother warned, the weather, you know, changed, and I had to adjust my outfit accordingly.

So I pulled a shirt from my closet. Now this was a shirt I hadn't worn in a while, but I remember it looking good, so I slipped it on. Or tried to.
My left bicep is so fat that when I finally got the sleeve above my elbow, I thought I was going to pass out it was so tight. My right one was pretty tight, too, but not as bad as my left.

And then the day before, I went to go put on a shirt that I had picked out a night before, and the same thing happened even though I knew I had worn that shirt to work only a few weeks before.

Fat Arm Syndrome.
It's a real thing.

Which brings me to my story of The Yellow Shirt.
One day, I went shopping in Goodwill.
Yes, I shop thrift; you can judge me later.
I saw this bright, yellow satin shirt: from New York & Company, very new, and very my size.

Or so I thought.

I went to the dressing room to try it on. It fit great in the torso, but the sleeves felt like I had thick rubberbands around my arms. I undid the buttons on the sleeves to give my puppies some breathing room, and then it just looked stupid and I did not end up buying the lovely, yellow shirt.

Fat Arm Syndrome.
It's a real thing.

It's not like I work out and have these big, beefy man arms. I only packed on girth when I was drum major, but that should be gone by now.
So I can't figure out if I actually have it, or if everyone else in my torso size has anorexic stick arms.

Most stick people are black.

Think about it.

Am I more than you bargained for yet,
TWS

Sugar, We're Going Down; Fall Out Boy