When I reached in my closet and grabbed my grey button down shirt this morning, I said, "Hmmmph...I thought this shirt had a stain on it." I perused the shirt, found no offending marks, shrugged it off to poor memory and continued on with my morning. But, when I went to the bathroom at the office and saw what looks like the print left from a pizza slice slapping me in the stomach, I realized my memory is better than I gave it credit.
Why would I hang a shirt back in my closet that has an obvious stain you ask? Apparently I am now in the business of setting up booby traps for myself. Good call Julius.
Hilarious. I also do something similar to this: I hand up dirty clothes in my closet. At the time I hang the clothes up I think, "these are not so bad. I can wear these again." Later, when I go to wear them again, I think "these are disgusting." And I drop them in the hamper.
ReplyDelete