Tuesday, Dec. 02, 2003 - 2:36 p.m.

10:35 a.m. Being that I was already thirty-five minutes late for work I really didn�t have the time to waste fretting over my lack of clean clothes and just threw on a stored pair of Hugo Boss jeans, grabbed a Hartford button-down-collar shirt, leashed the dogs and ran for my car.

11:05 a.m. On the short walk from my parking space to the office I happened past a large storefront window generously reflecting all in its view. Taking the opportunity of self-examination I took a glance in the window and immediately reeled from my grossly inaccurate and overwhelmingly inflated notion of my physical appearance conveniently stored in my mind. How could my conceit be so out of whack, so out of control, and so indifferent to the truth? What I expected to see was Ricky Martin what I saw so clearly reproduced on clean and shiny glass was Ricki Lake wearing denim leggings and an untucked man blouse attempting, yet failing, to hide rolls of depression weight packed on after breaking up with Bean.

11:43 a.m. Unable to take the discomfort any longer I unbutton the top of my jeans and swear to never eat again or at least never eat sugar again or at the very least never wear these hateful hateful pants every again.

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