This business of being completely addled out of my mind with medication turning over a new leaf is rather disturbing to my sense of self and knowing just who I am. I know that I wear very high heels, know very little about cars and at any given moment smell like Givinchey Indecent Organza. Yes. That is the non-medicated old Porkchop.

The tripping new Porkchop, in a moment of insight into her car, thought one of her tires looked a little low and should be filled, just to be safe and all that. Now, the non-medicated old Porkchop would have frantically called her father on his cell phone pleading for help. Actually, the old Porkchop probably would not have noticed until her tire was completely flat, and then would have arranged for the entire fire department to change it. But, no. The tripping sensible new Porkchop drove over to the dark cavern her father calls his Shop and tried to fill her own tire.

As evidence of my medicated state new found sense of idiocy, I was wearing a WHITE skirt and hauling this filthy air hose about trying to fill my tire. Tip-toeing around the puddles of grease in Barbies Coach flats. (Dear God, PLEASE do not give Barbie internet access anytime soon.) After growing bored with this entire process some more deep insight into my car, I decided without the help of a little air pressure meter thingy with my keen sensing skills, that my car tire was quite satisified.

I then had the ardous task of rewinding the air hose. I actually managed to accomplish this while escaping even a speck of grease or dirt on my white skirt, only to realize my hands were now COVERED is the sort of things that any sort of Porkchop, new or old, would despair in having touch her skin. I set out in hunt of shop towels. Those fasinatingly soft paper towels that come in a box.I love these towels, whenever I can find them, I use them liberally. I could NOT find any. (They had probably hidden them since my last visit.) I began to despair, I was going to show up to work, late, covered in shop muck.

Being terribly inventive, I found the car care supplies, where I carefully wiped myself down with Armour-All Cleaning Wipes. I can assure you, they smell nothing like Givenchy. And the smell of Armour-All and Givenchy COMBINED is even less appealing. Wait! That was the old Porkchop typing. The new Porkchop realizes that it was necessary, and practical. And she applauds trading her vanity for practicality. GO PORKCHOP!

As I was driving to work, I was trying to pat myself on the back for being so, so LEVEL-HEADED. I FILLED MY TIRE ALL BY MYSELF. ALL BY MYSELF, PEOPLE! THE NEW PORKCHOP REIGNS!

Once I finially GOT to work and sat at my desk, I promptly spilled coffee on my white skirt.



When I come down off this medication, I surely hope I have a wardrobe left.