Divisions and Precisions

I'm three years old...

Jeez. I should not be allowed near food before 9am. I goaded myself out of bed this morning with the promise of a stop at Starbucks before work. (Yes, I know they're the evil corporate empire and I should hate them with all of my liberal-cool college student heart, but--caramel macchiato!) I got my caffeinated bliss, and I also got a chocolate croissant. You can see where this is leading, can't you? I sit down at my desk, take a big drink of caramel macchiato, and a big bite of my chocolate croissant--which promptly spews ooey gooey tasty chocolate all down the front of my green-on-a-white-background top. I'm not talking about a few drips. I'm talking about two giant spooges of chocolate love, right where they would be most noticable.

So I wipe off as much as I can (getting chocolate all over my fingers and mouth while I'm at it) and then go to the bathroom and try to repair the damage. It worked, a little. Now instead of two big dark brown spots on my shirt, I have two bigger, lighter brown spots. If I toss my hair just right over my shoulder, it covers them. Hey, if anybody notices, then they shouldn't be paying that much attention to my chest, right? Right?

Gah. Shoot me.