I’m over at The Nudge Wink Report today, commenting on a vital matter of international significance. Hurry over and let your voice be heard.
I have a fanny pack. I’m not talking about a 20-year old leftover sitting in the bottom of the Goodwill donation box, nor am I being ironic. I own a fanny pack, I use it, and I like it. Deal.
I realize that any shred of cool I might have claimed has just gone out the window, and I hope we can still be friends. My daughters treat me like a leper if we’re out in public and I’m fanny-tized. When we went to New York City a couple of years ago I was afraid they would be abducted off the streets of Chinatown because they insisted on walking several blocks behind me.
I don’t fanny-up for important business meetings, swanky events or funerals – there’s a time and…
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