Thing I can’t do: play guitar.
Things I can do: get drunk and pretend to play guitar.
We went out to the “Yellow Deli” for dinner, which is owned by some sort of Christian/ hippie cult. They have excellent Reuben’s. After delicious cult sandwiches we went and had two dollar drafts and talked to some guy who was depressed because he’d just gotten a “tramp stamp”. Literally the guy had just gotten the word “Tramp” tattooed on the small of his back. He seemed pissed about it.
That said, I wore an over-sized floral dress from the thrift store, an old belt of my mom’s, a brass bird necklace, my husband’s yellow glasses, my husband’s dress socks (they’re too short, I really need some proper stockings), and vintage 3-tone oxfords that I’ve had forever. And my husband’s guitar…