This was supposed to be a post about the time I was born.

But then it happened…

I dropped a piece of salad on my leg.

And since I’d put on my own homemade dressing (equal parts olive oil and balsamic vinegar, dijon-ie mustard and crushed garlic, yum), it stained the pants I was wearing.

Then, I got to thinking about the pants and that maybe it wasn’t so bad that I’d stained them because I’d recently bought them (Laz House Special) and Nanna wanted to steal them really liked them. But now that they were stained maybe she wouldn’t want them so I could keep them for myself. Although, I don’t want stained pants either. Minor technicality.

And then I thought that if I just made this post about the fact that “I was currently wearing stained pants”, people would never read my blog again and it might even turn into another “Dirty Toilet Debacle” even though people really are wondering what exactly was on my pants. But then, I forgot what I was writing about in the first place. Happens all the time.

Then I rememembered and given my hubris above, I thought that I would just keep it simple.