After putting off going to the gym all day because of a persistent headache, I finally dragged myself through blocks of slush only to realize upon arrival that I had forgotten to bring a tee-shirt to work out in. I did not want to use the one I was wearing because then I would be a sweaty, odoriferous mess on the walk home. (Those of you—and here I refer to Viki and Tiffany—who claim that I am usually an odoriferous mess can just shut up.)

About to accept my lack of workout tee-shirt as a sign from the gods that there should also be a lack of workout, I remembered suddenly the time I had forgotten to bring underpants to change into afterward. Then, before entering the gym, I had run across the street to the Filene's Basement to purchase a new pair (2(x)ist boxer briefs), which quickly became my most favorite underpants ever. So I went across the street to Filene's Basement to purchase a new tee-shirt, which was located conveniently next to the 2(x)ist and DKNY boxer briefs, so I picked up some of those, too; they were all half the price they would be elsewhere.

The problem with Filene's Basement is that the cheap prices come at a price. The checkout line extended for miles and was manned by a lone cashier. He was skeletal, with grey hair, and I took him for a halfwit because he was incapable of completing any purchase without calling for assistance. "Manager to Men's frontline," he would say in slurred tones over the tinny P.A. system. That poor halfwit, I thought, forcing myself to be sympathetic rather than annoyed at the glacial progress. When I finally got to the head of the line, I realized he was not slurring at all, but speaking in some sort of northern European accent, possibly Dutch. He still seemed, however, like he was not all there. He opened the boxes of underpants to make sure that I had not snuck more expensive pairs of underpants in there, only he felt the need to announce the contents to everyone within earshot: "2(x)ist boxer briefs, size small," he read off the box. Sure enough, that's what was in there.

On the way out of the store, the security guard said, "Make productive use of the rest of your day." I told him I would, but I really had no such intention.

At the gym, changing in the locker room, I realized that the new shirt I bought clung in all the wrong places and was loose in all the wrong places, so I just gave up and wore the one I already had on. I wore the new one under my sweater on the way home.

I was not an odoriferous mess, thank you very much.