His heels were filthy.
His heels were filthy.

It’s late, I’m tired, and I don’t have much to say. Today was Friday, I ran errands. Errands aren’t interesting, so I won’t bore you.

I went to book club (I’m in two, but this was the original). We call it Fight Club, so I’m breaking the first rule of Fight Club by telling you about it. These ladies have seen me through two adoptions, and at the last meeting, which I flaked on, they meant to surprise me with presents. I still feel like a jackass. Tonight was lovely, and we had caramel bread pudding with custard. We even talked about the book.

So, I wouldn’t exactly call this a non sequitur, because nothing follows logically in this post. But while waiting to buy 40 stamps at the post office, I stood in the self-service kiosk line behind a dude wearing shorts and no shoes. It was 52 and raining at the time, but I suppose he could have just flown in from Bali and needed to go to the self-service kiosk. Still, the barefoot thing grosses me out. I’m  not a germaphobe, and I don’t make people remove their shoes when they come to my house. But I do take issue with dudes not wearing shoes at the post office.

Did I say anything? Nah. I’ve become a passive-aggressive Seattleite, so I’m venting on my blog. Also, Barefoot Dude might be mentally unbalanced, and it’s best not to rile such people at the post office.

P.S. Thank you to my friend Kelly Ryer, who pointed out that I’ve been misspelling non sequitur this whole time. I just can’t even. It’s like I’m lobotomized.

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