My Bathroom Reveals That Jet Lag = Drunk.

Observation: being jet lagged isn’t that radically different from being drunk. Your short term memory suffers, you find yourself in dire need of a sandwich and a shower (and briefly consider how you might tackle both simultaneously), and you litter your home with random articles of clothing.

Behold:

Note to self: next time you decide to post photos of your undergarments to the your blog, consider picking a slightly prettier pair.

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You know, it just occurred to me that the above photo looks a little crass. Here it is again in black and white:

Now it’s classy!

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That is my bra, which, in a sleep-deprived hazed, I seem to have left on the towel rack of our bathroom sometime on Saturday, shortly after we got back from Europe. I have zero recollection of having put it there. I’m not even entirely sure why I took off my bra in the middle of the day (though to be fair, it was something like 1 am in Paris, which is a perfectly acceptable hour at which to not be wearing a bra). I suspect it had something to do with the subsequent nap I took.

Later, feeling somewhat refreshed, I got dressed and headed to our friends’ wedding reception. There, I had a slice of cake that was so good, I might have proposed to the woman who baked it, promising her that we could be really fat and happy together.

I also had one and a half drinks which, as some of you know, is enough to make me forget that I can’t dance. I crawled into bed near midnight, humming indie rock love songs. And Sunday morning, when I went into the bathroom, I saw this:

Another bra has arrived. Clearly, this bathroom is their spawning ground. Soon, this land will be crawling with tiny little training bras.

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No recollection of how that one got there, either. If a third one shows up, I’m blaming poltergeists.