It's not my fault. It's all the fault of my stockings. My intention is to wear leggings (not stockings) to work because: #1 - it's warm out today; and #2 - I intend to wear a dress.
First I pick a sleeve-length to be comfy all day. Then, I decide on a dress. After that, I choose jewelry that might match. Once the perfect accessories are chosen, I go through the leggings. I decide against the leggings. Sure, sure; I could wear leggings, but then I'll need socks with the shoes to blend it all together, and the only leggings-appropriate shoes that still fit me with socks are the same ones I wore all weekend in North Carolina.
I notice the time and figure I'm running late, so I am a little lax in my order of operations. Between the Heel Fiasco and the dress with stockings that waits back in my room, I manage to touch my pajama bottoms, which are really just black yoga pants.
So, as anyone can plainly see, it is entirely not my fault that I am running late and need to bring extra stockings with me in case I rip the crap out of the ones I am wearing. I reach down to get ready, touch my yoga pants with the hand I have not washed yet after sanding my heels, and this leaves a large, ugly white mark all over everything.
Of course, this is all the fault of the leggings. Had everything just blended together a little more effectively, I never would've grabbed the stockings that caused the yoga pants disaster in the first place. It's clearly a case of "I don't know why she swallowed the fly..."
And that, friends, is the story of how I got a Skeletor hand print on my thigh.
