Semi-Daily Scribbles

As Gary woke up this morning, and realized it was Friday instead of Saturday, he proclaimed to the limoncello-colored walls of his boudoir:

"Faack. No clean clothes. No chance of calling in sick, either." So Gary creakily got out of his four-poster and walked into his closet to have a good look around. Only Special Occasion wear was left hanging on the racks. He reached for the spaghetti-strapped, tea-length lime green floral. Just as Gary grabbed the hanger, he had a thought: Faack. I just don't want to wear a size 40 anymore. Maybe I'll drop a couple and see what happens.

Gary was tired. Tired of a lot of things. Like blowing dough on salves and powders and other toiletries that left him in the red every month. Gary had a tough time balancing figures. Today would be the day to take baby steps toward the sort of change Gary hoped CiCi would notice, and maybe even possibly prefer and/or like.