The better truth is I've been in this hoody for a few days because I haven't taken a shower. It's the weekend and I'm justified.
Tunga and I had a successful, albeit it Crandall-style, shopping excursion yesterday. "Yo. Text me when you want to leave. This store is huge," I say. "Oh, I'm good to leave now." We only picked up one item, but if that is good to go then all power to the experience. I'd rather not be there either. It's too overwhelming and the crowds were insane. Nothing like a Marshalls to make you think, "Oh, Shit. The Grinch underestimated the insanity of what the Whovillians consume each season." Such garbage. Such crap. Such excess. And so much a return to pre-Covid insanity. I much prefer the ordering online phase of our species (I mean...look at my Sasquatch Sanctuary attire my mom found for me online last year).
We did get a couple of things at the Mellow Monkey in Stratford, a local art-shop by the water that really is a cool place to check things out. I also picked up two Queen pillows that he wanted. "Here. Why should I drive them all the way to Syracuse so you can drive them all the way back to Stamford? What else do you need?"
We stopped by Pam's for meatballs and sausage...well, I did...Tunga was too stressed about the week ahead to have an appetite. He passed. What a moron. Pam's meatballs are delicious. An England win over Senegal, a Jets loss, and a Cleveland up at the half later....we departed and called it a Sunday. Any day where I'm not behind a screen for 14 hours is a good day. I enjoyed every second.
Ah, but it's Monday. Lucky for me I'm jam-packed with meetings that will do nothing but take up time that could have been sent in an email. I already know the day will be a bust, but I'm off. This, I believe, is what adult life is all about.