So you wake up one morning and you believe that what you really need is a pair of “solar yellow” trousers. You sit down to do what you have to do that day and you put on some ridiculously upbeat Hed Kandi music. You write three hundred words, look at it, scrunch your face up, rewrite it using bigger words and condense the whole thing down into one hundred words, while bopping along to this music. It comes to one-thirty and you realise that if you want those insane trousers, mania trousers in fact, by the time you see Dakota tomorrow then you’ll have to order them like, now. You peruse the website and you imagine wearing them and this feels all good and wonderful. Then you imagine you wearing them from an outside perspective and the image of marigold gloves pops into your head. This is not a good look; you realise you’d look like a tosser so you elect to buy a more conservative pair of bright purple trousers instead.
This makes total sense.
Just exactly for times like this you don’t have a credit card because you’d run up a debt that even Obama would find eye watering, but without the ability to raise the debt ceiling so you get Dad to order them and tell him you’ll pay him back. Dad instead offers to pay for them. You are not in the habit of looking gift horses in the mouth so you accept. Bonza. Now you have two pairs of trousers, one light blue, one purple and all the cash your manically clothes obsessed little brain refused to spend on anything else. So what do you do?
You write a blog about it, because reasons, and in the process of writing said blog you honestly start to think that there is a correlation between saving money and getting things for free and playing happy music and the sun coming out as if the universe is smiling on you and promising to always take care of you, because it loves you and you realise: I need those fucking yellow trousers. No. You realise that the universe is giving you these trousers, they are a present for you. It’s obvious. You saved up, the universe is rewarding you for that and to let you know it’s made the sun come out and what colour are the trousers, that’s right solar yellow. This can’t be just a coincidence, right?
Rationally you realise that this is bat shit insanity, but then you have a certificate somewhere that says that you are in fact bat shit insane and while you know none of this is true, it really does feel true, and you feel loved.