This is why I need a doorman

​Today I returned to work after many days out sick. I was rusty this morning, stumbling through my standard morning routine, and also trying to remember all the tinctures, potions, and assistive devices I wanted to bring with me:

Tissues- check
Fuzzy scarf, fuzzy boots- check
Raw garlic- check
Apple cider vinegar- check
Grapefruit seed extract- check
Lemon- check
Good tea- check
Backup tea- check
Food rations for a week in case I get stranded in a bitter 69 degree San Diego chillaxizzard


I'm wearing a sweater over a sweatshirt over another sweatshirt (which is actually the cute one and it's a shame I had to cover it up but that's the only way the hoods fit together), over a shirt. I'm basically a human turducken, the belle of the Awkward Ball. I'll be in the corner at work, dancing with myself.

Anyway, I eventually assembled my luggage at the front door, slid a hand through my bedhead- I mean beachy waves, and felt very proud of myself. Look out, world! I'm ready for work!
​
One problem: NO PANTS.