Why don't you tell me how you really feel about it?

On Saturday I rolled into the kitchen decked out in one of my usual outfits of choice: faded, ripped up slim jeans, a white t and a pair of ankle boots. It was an exciting day: this pair of ankle boots is new. And it has buckles. What can I say? It's the little things, people.

As I glanced sideways in the mirror while strolling down the hall, something seemed off. I stopped, turned, walked back and stood there a moment assessing the situation. Hmmmm. Back in the kitchen (really I'm still on the first entrance but gave you a little context) I say to the Chef, who is so kindly assisting with litterbox duty, 'Dude. Does something about this say Peter Pan?' To which he responds by looking up and proceeding to double over in laughter, 'No, no! I actually never would have thought that. But now that you say it...' Well now.

Taking it back down the hallway I trade out the jeans for a slightly slimmer and much darker pair. Victory. Balance. No Neverland for me today, after all. Turning to the Chef I say, 'Better, right?' Not so much a question, but rather an eyerolling whew.

To which he turns to me straightfaced and says, 'Yeah, but you might want to give your skallywags another roll.'

Everyone's a comedian.