Don't Let This Be True!

This is just like when you finally talk to that person you like, or the one you admire, and for once, you were totally cool-not nervous, witty (but not too much to the point that it feels annoyingly like a ping pong match of offensive rhetoric), and charming. Afterwards you hurry to the nearest mirror forcing yourself not to smile until you know that nobody is around that can laugh to themselves at you (or wonder if you are homeless or on PCP [sorry I'm from Venice, and that exactly what people wonder when they see somebody smiling to themselves {its really a vicious life out there.. We should be able to do whatever we want whenever we want.. Especially smile for freedom's sake!}])--and its not like you're in your car doing it, or you would have shelter from this judgment by continuing to talk to yourself forcing the onlooker to assume you are on your blue tooth. So then you look in the mirror..... NO. This can't be true. My eyeliner is dripping, my cheeks are red and my pores are HUGE! I look like a sweaty beast. The thought of having looked like that in front of your feared and admired one is too much pain to bear, so you wipe off your eyeliner, blot away the shine, and stare at yourself in the mirror ‘til you have convinced yourself that the new fixed up version of you is exactly how the ever-so-important person perceived you.
That moment the horrible realization ALMOST has victory against your denial is the moment I am in right now.
I just bought a pair of tie-dye socks. Finally after admiring, wishing and coveting from afar. I immediately put them on (they are red white and blue and I bought a second pair because those ones had purple and yellow in them too) and as I walked with my head high back toward my car from a very successful night of hippie dancing at the greek theater, my ankles started to itch. NO. The dreaded truth. My new socks aren't itchy, it must be my imagination. Walk it off. Still itchy. I sooth my uneasy mind with the brilliant reminder that I had taken 4 vicodins (for my work related injury. Don't judge me the doctor gave to me and told me it was ok!) and vicodin makes you itchy!

This can't be true. Please don't let my new, long awaited, esteemed, glorified tie dyed socks be itchy.

I once heard "denial is not a river in Egypt." --Author unknown (well, unknown to me at least and I am too frazzled to go look it up on Wikipedia right now).

OK UPDATE:

September 23, 2009

I realize this entry makes no sense. Please understand I wrote this AS I was wearing the socks. I was heavily intoxicated.