I am not overly concerned with fashion. Ask anyone and they will tell you I am just as comfortable in my old college sweatpants as I am in a nice trouser. I have been known to drive my kids to school in my pajamas with a big oversize sweater to cover the fact that my too-large breasts are not held tightly to my chest with a bra. Okay, maybe that was a little too much information.
Anyway, I am going somewhere with this, I swear. Yesterday, Jon and I were at the food co-op trying to find some hippie, all-natural, weed-in-a-capsule to help my son's allergies. (Really, how does that work? I give my son some freeze-dried nettles and it makes him not sneeze?) I digress. As we were approaching the door we spied what looked like a mime on his cell phone. After close inspection, I would say he was NOT a mime. What tipped me off, you ask?
1. He's TALKING on a cell phone.
2. He is not wearing a beret, but a fedora-type hat.
3. The stripes on his shirt don't match up with the stripes on his pants. We all know that a mime, being from France and always conscious of his wardrobe choices, would not have put those on together unless he was experiencing an ocular migraine or a small blood clot that impaired his ability to tell whether something was horizontal or vertical.
4. He clearly was not respecting the boundaries of the glass wall in front of him as he paced.
5. It's obvious those shoes were meant for a clown, not a mime.
6. He was in Moscow, Idaho. At a food co-op that smells strongly of patchouli incense and pesto sauce. (Isn't that enough?)