I wore socks to work today. Self care socks, if you will.
I got these in Asheville. They’re like house-socks, or slippers that look like socks, or shoes that don’t do well in water. It was an extended stay in Asheville, NC. I also left with a nose piercing and enough temporary tattoos to disguise Chris’ identity if she ever needs to slink off a competitive comedy stage again.
That’s a great story. She basically challenged someone to a comedy dance-off and ended up hiding under my chair. This is why we’re friends.
When I tell her I think I hear neighbors outside and I don’t want them to hear that I’m home, and that I’m hiding in my closet with a Netflix line-up and a pound of Christmas Oreos and that I’ll slit my wrist if I have to pretend to be a perfect PTA parent right now, she’s all, “Say no to razors. Say yes to reviving inner unicorn with Chris.”
Friends don’t come better than ones who will help you revive your inner unicorn.
Which is kind of what these socks do for me. I slid into my therapy room like Tom Cruise in Risky Business and didn’t even bust my ass. I busted my ass later, while roller skating.
And then she sends me a meme. Like this one.