Funny. I Don’t Remember Eating That…

If you’re like me – and we’ve no reason to believe otherwise, despite potential differences in age, sex, geographical location, and inseam – you arrive at Friday wondering to yourself, Self? What’s going on?

Well? What do we answer ourselves? The words “I have no idea” have become so tedious, haven’t they? Why isn’t there someone out there telling me what will happen next?

But wait! There is! And holy smokes, it’s my iPod!

That’s right. As is well known in these parts – if we will agree that “these parts” include my own pointy little head and the space taken up by your computer screen – the songs played on my Friday-morning commute – and shuffled, mind you! completely random! – have the ability to predict the future!

Play along, won’t you?

Adderall by The Hold Steady
Honey White by Morphine
Honky Tonkin’ by Hank Williams
I Just Want to Celebrate by Rare Earth
Shotgun by Southern Culture on the Skids
Colleen by The Heavy

My, but that is random. And yet… And yet… What’s that I see? Margaritas Friday night at Barrio? And what’s that, iPod? Don’t be a twit, just take the bus so that you are free to imbibe at will?

Don’t mind if I do!

It won’t be the first time I’ve taken the bus downtown. After all, I enjoy taking the bus. Between the zombie-like state I sometimes enter into between one stop and the next and the traveling freak show (free!) that makes intermittent appearances, I recommend taking the bus as a cheap and entertaining way to get to where you’re going.

But even I must admit that the bus has its drawbacks. They are on a schedule, aren’t they, and wait for no one…

I was at the bus stop this morning when I realized that the white cotton eyelet jacket I was wearing had a small yet undeniably smeared stain of some sort, right where it buttons over the chest. The chest! It was as if someone – or something, since I was willing to point a grubby finger at anyone but me – had dipped their digits into banana, possibly butterscotch pudding, and then buttoned my jacket.

It had not been noticeable in the least when I had taken it out the night before. Nor was it noticeable when I put it on.

In the glaring light of Casual Friday, however, one was led to believe that the owner and/or wearer of this particular jacket was unfamiliar with napkins and their uses.

I considered the fact that I hadn’t worn this jacket in well over a year. It was clean when I put it away. I was sure of it. I don’t, after all, hang up dirty clothes.

I tried to recollect the last time that someone might’ve eaten – not pudding perhaps, perhaps a bowl of curry – in my closet. I mean, there are parties; and then there are parties.

I lazily imagined how I could turn this misfortune into an opportunity, maybe a little get-to-know-you exercise on the bus, our seatmates encouraged to make assumptions about each of us based on the stains on our clothes. I wondered what my jacket said about me…

The bus came into view as it occurred to me that I could just walk home and change. But the next bus wouldn’t be around for another 20 minutes, and then I would be late.

I took my jacket off and put it in my yoga bag.

I don’t know what that stain is, how it got there, or what it says about me as a person, but I do know this: I have never eaten pudding - or curry! - in my closet.

I don't care what you've heard.

And I still have no idea what that stain could be.