I’d been playing a game with myself for the last few months: see how long I could go without wearing pants. Since I started this job in April, I hadn’t worn pants to the office: 33 straight days of my naked shins, flapping in the wind. It was glorious.

Unfortunately, due to our unseasonably shitty weather, I’ve been cold. Really, really cold. I finally got tired of freezing my ass off, so I decided to cave in to social norms and wear some stupid pants already. Are you happy, society? My thighs aren’t touching! Are you not entertained? Is this not why you are here?

So I’m wearing these fucking pants, and I’m also having the WORST GODDAMN DAY EVER. This can’t possibly be a coincidence: THE PANTS ARE TO BLAME. FUCK YOU, PANTS! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!

I arrived at work this morning to discover that my laptop had crashed during the night. Annoying, but it happens a lot – which is why I’m always really careful to save my work. Unfortunately, the crash was pretty catastrophic and the rarely-helpful Auto Recovery fucked up just to make things extra awesome. End result: I lost about 8 hours of work; my entire Tuesday. I am not happy. And none of this would have happened if I hadn’t worn fucking PANTS today.

Between these goddamn pants, my missing work and the bus boner I was assaulted with yesterday, I think I deserve an orphaned kitten from Turkey.