"I realize that when I met you at the turkey curry buffet, I was unforgivably rude and wearing a reindeer jumper."

One thing (though certainly not the only thing) that Becky and I had in common in high school was our mutual love of reindeer sweaters. This love was similarly squelched by both of our mothers who independently imposed a no-reindeer-or-snowflake-sweater-before-Thanksgiving rule on us. Their mutual theory seemed to boil down to: you can't wear snowflakes before the ground does. This declaration never stopped me from trying to leave the house wearing the sweater, to rebel--if you will--against the tyranny of an unfair prejudice against antler-laden-mammal knits. I was always cold at school, and the thick wool of my grey-reindeer (picture more Nordic than Mark Darcy from Bridget Jones) pullover kept me from having to make yet another trip to my locker to get fluffy gloves so that my hands didn't turn purple. I even went so far as to walk around the house in a t-shirt on cold days so that I could throw on the sweater and a coat over it at the last minute. I regarded every victory as a strike against oppression--no, seriously. As I have grown older and perhaps even come close to growing up, I have found different ways to assert my independence--as have we all. So, yesterday as the clock ticked on to 3 AM and I finally headed home from work, it was my blue-and-grey snowflake sweater that kept me warm and motivated. (Okay, so that last bit is a stretch--the motivation--because it was actually the thought of my pillow at home that kept me motivated, but I'm taking a little poetic license there.)

Currently reading: Just a few pages from the end of Under the Banner of Heaven; I've been working so much this week (haven't been home before midnight since Monday) that I haven't gotten much actual reading done
Currently listening to: Still the Wicker Park soundtrack; there are some really kick-*ss covers on it