Sheer exhaustion.
And yet, here I sit. It's 12:35. I should be in bed, but instead I'm blogging about burying my face in a pile of my sister's Hollister items because they smelled like a "delicious man." While she was showing off her purchases of the day, I was enraptured in the odor emitting from her new shorts and plaid shirt.
A man should follow me everywhere smelling like that. I would hug him always.
Or maybe I should just buy some Hollister cologne and call it a day.
We could squabble over what's more odd. That I would sniff shorts and plaid shirts, or that I would ask my little sister to photograph me doing above mentioned action on my cell phone. And not just once, but a few times when the picture wasn't what I was looking for.
"Take my picture so I can blog about it," I said.
She rolled her eyes and obliged, laughing.
I don't make sense sometimes. Especially at 12:39 a.m. when I've worked three 12-hour days in a row and have a couple more to wrap up for the week.
I'll be a teary mess come Friday.
Just hand me my Hollister-smelling man, or shorts, or plaid shirt, and I will be pacified.
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