If there’s an enzyme that regulates concern for how one is perceived by the general public, my levels are dangerously low. Add that to my tendency to choose a logical (to me) solution despite the hair-pulling, eye-bulging frustration of my companions, and I’m pretty sure I’m a sociopath.
As evidence, I present Exhibit A: my fanny pack. But I don’t wear it on my fanny, so I refer to it as a waist pouch.
We are kindred spirits!
