I just found a stowaway Cheerio in my bra. From breakfast. Yesterday.
I'm not sure which of the following is more disturbing:
1. Changing my clothes (much less, showering) has taken a backseat to grad school.
2. I mistook it for a displaced body part.
3. I ate it.
I wish it had been money instead of a Cheerio. Or a bottle of wine. A wood nymph, perhaps. Those would at least suggest that I lead a more exciting life than that which a lone Cheerio implies.
::sigh::
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