No, you're right, you're right, you haven't gone crazy: it is Wednesday, not Tuesday, but I realized I hadn't done a Bad Decision Tuesday in a while---what with, you know, going on vacation and getting engaged and all---and yet Bad Decision Wednesday just didn't have quite the same ring to it. Plus, it's totally still Tuesday where I'm writing this, propped up on my comfy bed in San Francisco with a large, soft cat resting on my ankles, while I stealthily sneak peanut M&Ms from a fun-sized packet I took today from the office candy bowl and totally forgot I had in my jacket pocket (it's like winning the lottery!)
I have a doozy for you today, Internet, oh yes I do. Take yourself back to a simpler time, a gentler time, a time circa 1994 when I was fourteen years old and fond of the old homemade beauty treatments. I had read somewhere, I think, that one could fashion a sort of facial mask using just oatmeal, honey, and sheer boredom, and so one dull Saturday afternoon---after I had got done listening to Soul Asylum, no doubt, or maybe the Crash Test Dummies---this is exactly what I decided to do. Behold the magnificence! I could stare at this picture for thirty hours and still find it deeply hilarious!
And yes, I would like to address some things:
A) First, that t-shirt: it was stolen from my 11-year-old brother's closet and it says "Life is Short. Play Hard." I believe it was part of the tremendously stylish No Fear oeuvre, and I also believe that I was obsessed with it. At that point in my life, I was inexplicably enamored with baseball, you see, and this shirt was pretty much the most badass thing I'd ever seen. This is no excuse for stealing clothes from an 11-year-old boy, of course, but whatever. Life is short, you know? You have to play hard.
B) That small orange shadow behind me is my sister, Susie, aged around five. Do you not find it the most amusing thing, the way she's standing there like that? And also maybe the creepiest?
C) Indeed, we are wearing shower caps. Don't they rock the house? Poor Susie seems to have got the short end of the stick and is wearing what looks to be a freebie from a hotel bathroom. Yours truly, however, has commandeered the fancy one, THE ONE MADE OF FABRIC, BABY, and is working it like nobody's business.
In short, I think we can all agree---thanks to this pretty incontrovertible evidence I've just put before you---on why none of the boys I liked when I was fourteen liked me back. Which is a real shame, actually, because I would have had some awesome No Fear t-shirts they could have borrowed. Or, you know, stolen for them from my brother's closet.