Some Tuesdays really suck. Thanks to an error in Diet Coke-related judgement the night before, I was up until 3 AM alternately reading Under the Banner of Heaven and old issues of Vogue. This meant that when I finally did nod off I was subjected to disturbing dreams that Anna Wintour was going to slit my throat for not properly adhering to the gospel of Zac Posen and encouraging my friends and loved ones to wear Gap. The cat, as she is wont to do, spent the hours between 6 AM and 8 AM trying to bite off my feet, because that is her idea of playtime fun.
All this meant I didn't leap into the shower until 9:00 and failed to slog out the door until 9:30, which is late even by my office's lax standards. I got about four blocks when I realized that my iPod battery was close to dead and I'd left the charger smack in its place on the counter. Oh, and did I mention that I'm officially five pounds too chunky for the leather blazer I'm wearing?
All this was on my mind when I got my copy of the Express and rode the escalator down to the Metro. And then, whilst flipping over to Sudoku, I saw it:
Yep, that's EJ in the Metro Express. Thank you, Washington Post!
I squeaked a little bit. The woman next to me and the man next to her looked over at me with nervous expressions: "Umm... is she going to violate the Metro code of no eye-contact/conversation/touching of any sort?"
I smiled at them, something I rarely do in the Metro or before 10 AM. "Sorry," I said, "but my blog- it's..." I trailed off, since their expressions indicated they A) did not know what this blog thing was and B) wished me to stop talking right away. But even surly strangers can't take away my new-found good mood.