With any luck today’s blog will be my shortest (or at least quickest written) one ever. It’s five in the afternoon, and I’ve only got an hour before me and my crew, The Nashville Seven (I just made that up; I’m trying it out), hit the town to celebrate Bonnie’s birthday. Honestly, I’m still fried from last night’s shenanigans (and brisket nachos). I woke up today at noon for my “forced feeding” and have yet to get my engine going. It’s like I’m extremely sluggish and slightly disoriented.

It’s called a hangover, Marcus.

That’s just a joke. I’m not hung over. Carbed-over, maybe. Last week I got into my smallest pair of shorts just fine. But today I had to lie down on the bed, suck in my stomach, and use both biceps to get those same shorts buttoned. Y’all, it was a miracle. When I stood up and they didn’t bust at the seams, I sang the doxology. Bonnie, Mallory, and I went shopping this afternoon, and because one of the antique stores had free raspberry-filled donuts and I have no self-control, my shorts were working overtime trying to keep me in them. When we got home and I took them off, I swear I heard them breathe a sigh of relief. Now I’m in a pair of gym shorts, and my belly feels gloriously free and unconfined. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I need more elastic in my life.

Since not much has happened today, I’m not sure what to write about. While vintage shopping, I bought a pair of clear sunglasses, which I realize sounds like witchcraft, but it’s an actual thing–they’re a hundred percent UV resistant. (They won’t stand for those UV rays!) Y’all, I love the way they look, but the coating on the lenses and the glare on the sides make me feel like I’m in one of those hall-of-mirrors funhouses. I kept stumbling around the antique stores reaching for items and misjudging how far away they were. My poor eyes, I really shouldn’t make them work so hard. But as my Aunt Terri taught me, “Form over function.”

Now it’s time to clean up and get ready. We leave in an hour, and I still need to shower and pick out an outfit that will allow me to both dance and eat any carbs that come my way. I don’t know what that outfit will be, but I’m planning to incorporate a new button I picked up in an antique store this afternoon. It’s just bigger than a quarter and blue with red writing. It says simply, “Uptown Girl,” and I can’t tell you how much I love it. For most of my life I would have been too afraid to wear it, thinking, What if people think I’m a homosexual? Consequently, for the longest time, I tried to play it straight by creating an illusion, a not-really-me. Now I think, I AM a homosexual. What if people think I’m NOT? Honestly, it’s not about what other people think of me. That’s their business. Or, if life is a funhouse, that’s their hall-of-mirrors. But my own hall-of-mirrors, that’s what I’m concerned about, whether or not I can see myself clearly, making sure I don’t personally mistake any of the illusions I’ve created for the real me.