After a lovely evening out at Star Trek (more on that next time) w/ my best friend and two of his friends, both of whom I've met before and find quite swell, I returned home to a sweltering abode and immediately disrobed.
Then the biggest moth maybe ever--seriously, this thing could be the subject of J.J. Abram's next film--flew into my goddamned hair and when I freaked and shooed it away, it made a beeline for my Marc Jacobs wool houndstooth coat hanging on the back of my bedroom door. I batted it away again and it landed on my mirror. When I returned with a paper towel to squelch its malevolence, it had flown away and now I can't find it.
So I'm faced with the prospect of trying to sleep in 88 degree weather knowing some kind of sentient dragon-type descendent is loose in what should be my sanctuary.
Right now I don't feel like fate's pawn so much as its bitch and/or fluffer.
You have won the battle, coif-hating, wool-craving moth, but sleep or no sleep, I will win the war.
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