Fuzzy Face

Yesterday, I finally exercised my right as a citizen of Sherman Oaks.  I decided to go out there, armed with coupons, laden with matzoh still stuck somewhere in my digestive track, and boost the economy just a little bit.  It made me feel so warm and fuzzy.  At least, my left eye was fuzzy.  Shopping with one dilated eye?  Very '60s.  Colors smushed together.  Things looked funky and out of focus.  Take me, for instance.  The three-way mirror experience isn't so bad when half of you looks blurry.  "Damn, girl," I shouted in the dressing room.  "All them aerobics is paying off.  The left side's lookin' fly!"  I was giddy and tripping right there in Macy's and Bloomies and Banana Republic.  Till I got home and examined my purchases more carefully, once my vision cleared.  "Damn, girl, look at the little hole in the seam!  How'd you miss that, missy?  And this dress?  This is all wrong for you!  What'd you do, bitch?  Shop with blinders on?"  Apparently.  Today, a few things are going back.