No Time

There is no time to blog.

There is time for South Beach.

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There is time for Peanut Butter.  37 hours and that is what is left.  #WTF

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There is time for another t-shirt.

Still haven’t figured out how to fit blogging into my life.

When I do, please come back and read.  I’ll share this trip’s detials

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Until then I will be blogging from a cardboard box…

Down to one… and still homeless.

Seersucker

I owned (yup, past tense) a pair of seersucker pants.  They always looked rather chic – hanging in my closet.

I wore them once.  I am convinced they were see-through.  I can also guarantee they accentuated the cottage cheese dimples of my derrière. Thankfully it is impossible for this fashion faux pas to ever happen again.

You see, a few months ago I tried the seersucker pants on.  Tried being the key word.  Are you aware of what seersucker sounds like as it is being stretched beyond its capable limits?   I am now extremely familiar with the sound of shredding cotton.

Final verdict – I am the sucker here.

I split my pants.

I laughed hysterically.

I immediately went to the kitchen and ate peanut butter straight from the jar.

While I am on the honesty train… I didn’t waste time putting on another pair of pants.  I stood in the kitchen, in my skivvies, with a spoon, and a jar of PB.

This is how I deal.