At the advanced age of 45, I bought myself my first pair of ripped jeans. Of course, I had to do something to make myself not feel completely weird about this venture, so the jeans are pink.
I’m at an event where we welcome prospective students, and to entertain myself I’m posting selfies. The gentleman sitting next to me heads our police department, and he stares at me in confusion.
In other news, it’s +16°C here. And it’s Presidents’ Day, which I’ll celebrate by driving to the gas station to laugh sardonically at the gas prices.
I have five public appearances coming up this spring plus a conference in North Carolina. And now that I have my pink jeans, I feel completely ready.