Losing it

Signs that I am officially losing it....
I inexplicably placed a glass jar of applesauce precariously on the top of the fridge. The minute unsuspecting husband opened the door, it came crashing down.
Then, this weekend, rather disastrous consequences ensued when I picked hair color based on food I like. Previously, this logic worked with "Chocolate Caramel." I thought I was safe with Garnier Nutrisse's "Truffle."
Now, I look like Professor Snape.
My right foot is still puffy and cranky like an alcoholic on a bender because of foot surgery. I can't wear anything other than a flip-flop. Yet, I keep buying shoes. I soooo desperately want to wear one of the, um, seven pairs that I've acquired while being unable to wear two shoes that I'm contemplating just slapping the post-surgical boot back on my right foot so I can at least wear a new shoe on leftie.
But perhaps the biggest, single sign that my mind is not long for this world....I'm obsessing over fur. Faux, of course. I really want this BB Dakota vest, I don't know why.
It's freakin' 90-plus degrees and will be through at least October and likely into November. I am no where near cool enough to pull of this look. If I wore it to school I'm afraid I'd look like that other crazy mothuh I've dubbed Day Time Hooker Mom. She regularly wears stilettos, a black long tank and leggings to drop her kid off. At 8:30 a.m. Perhaps that's unkind — the tank *does* cover her butt, so perhaps her career is more upscale. Like, an escort.
Of course, if I wore the fur, I'd still look like her pimp.