Somewhere between 66th and 72nd a McDonald's pickle attached itself to my calf fat: REASON #239847838 why I don't change into a dress before leaving work more often. (The other reasons are all that I'm tired of people commenting on how different I look in clothes that aren't a chef jacket. Thank you, everyone, for letting me know just how unappealing you find me 40+ hours a week.) At the entrance of Trader Joe's, where I was when I realized that a pickle had in fact stuck itself to my leg and that wet thing I'd felt a few blocks back was not after all a big bug because I am IN MANHATTAN AND NOT LAKESIDE MAINE, LINDSAY, I stopped to flick it off and briefly wondered if the pickle had simply fallen off someone's burger and landed on my person or if I had been the victim of a sneaky pickle tosser hiding behind the fruit stand outside Paris Baguette next to a mountain of limp pickle slices. Only briefly though. Then I bought some flowers and candy bars and came home and ate too many of the candy bars and went to sleep next to Aziz Ansari until my real boyfriend came home.