I went to the drug store today, wearing one of my favorite shirts, which is black and says in gothic lettering across the chest “Differently Charming.” (From the great crew at Likely Stories, as a matter of fact.)

The elderly clerk eyed this and said “Differently Charming? Is that politically correct for “weird”?”

“Sure!” I said cheerfully.

“Huh.” He eyed me expectantly, apparently waiting for me to do something appropriately strange.

Unfortunately, I have never learned to juggle, I am unable to snap flies out of the air with my tongue froggy-style, and I wasn’t even buying anything interesting. A set-up like that would have been perfect if I had felt the need to purchase, oh, a carton of eggs, a case of studded condoms, a bottle of antifreeze, rock salt and a dozen spatulas, but alas.

My single Dove deodorant stick felt sadly ordinary. I slunk out, feeling tragically mundane. I had failed to live up to my shirt. Obviously I need to learn to juggle, or since that’s unlikely–my hand-eye coordination is tragic–go for some kind of elective tongue surgery instead.

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