Yes, I know it’s election day. If you stopped by today hoping to find out who I voted for and why or why not…you’ll be disappointed. If I told you…well–you’d still be disappointed. I’m not very good at expressing myself politically. So instead, I’ll just a story that really relates to nothing. You are welcome to just laugh at my expense and be glad you are cooler and more capable than me.
Let me elaborate.
Today started like any other morning. Get up, pet the cat, start the tea pot. I did some things around the house before hopping in the shower. I had a phone conference set up late morning and the phone rang a bit earlier than expected…just as I was toweling off. I was excited to take the call so as we started chatting I pulled on jeans and threw on a button down shirt {one of my signature looks.} Easy enough. Not rocket science.
The meeting ends. I get up from the desk {aka dining room table} to go for another cup of tea. Look down…my shirt is buttoned wrong.
Okay, no big deal. I was distracted when I got dressed. We’ve all done it. The buttons aren’t lined up and I’ve got extra fabric at the bottom. Shake it off. Unbutton–rebutton.
Go about my business. Send a few emails, do a little research, write a few workouts. Lunch time. I’ll go get the mail first.
What the heck. My shirt is buttoned wrong again. Two buttons off this time. So much for effortless style {American Eagle makes it look so easy…} Unbutton–rebutton.
After lunch I do some other random work. At 1:30 I get ready to leave to go vote. I wrap a scarf around my neck, pull my purse across my body. Open the flap on top to get my keys when I notice…
MY SHIRT IS BUTTONED WRONG.
What. The. Heck.
How is this happening? It’s like I’ve never worn a shirt before. This is something you learn in pre-school. Just line them up. Pull it together Allender.
Unbutton–rebutton.
At the polling place I get out of the car. Excited to do my patriotic duty. I’m looking pretty good. It’s a cute shirt after all. I’m sporting my vintage cowboy boots, my favorite scarf and my most comfy jeans. But as I get out of the car I feel a breeze on my stomach.
SERIOUSLY?
MY SHIRT IS BUTTONED WRONG. No, I’m not kidding. I can’t make this stuff up. What kind of person attempts getting dressed four times with failure? They let a person like that vote? They let a person like that have a say in American democracy. The only person who can get away with a shirt buttoned wrong this many times is an old man in the Jerry home. Then it’s cute and endearing. I don’t think my grandpa ever had his buttons in line. Is this what I am? Nothing more than a 25-year-old-80-year-old-man? That literally doesn’t even make sense.
Embarrassed, I slipped down the hall to the restroom before anyone could possibly notice. Unbutton–rebutton. Is it right? Triple check. Okay….and…vote.
I hope your trip to the polls was pleasant. And I hope you only put your shirt on once today. Tomorrow at the water cooler, you’ll have something way cooler than a new president/reelected president to chat about…you can tell your friends about that girl you know who couldn’t button her own shirt.
Okay. Stick to chatting about the election.
Amy
