Egg on my Pants

I am house-sitting right now. This involves hanging out with a large gray cat with no teeth who likes to talk to me and appears to be eating an insane amount of food (I'm worried that he is eating so much because he doesn't know how to deal with abandonment and they told me to feed him when he wanted to be fed and if he keels over from overeating I'm going to feel really bad).

I went snowboarding this weekend. It was good, best conditions yet. Which doesn't mean that much considering I haven't been able to go on any of the great days this season. Because I have a job. And knees that are giving out. But anyway, I always stop at Mountain Moka in Sandy and get a coffee refill and usually a bagel or a breakfast sandwich and the girls are always caffeinated and chipper and foundationed and I have a frequent customer card that I have almost filled, but instead we went to that gas station which has the burrito shop inside. I got a breakfast burrito and it got all over me and my hands and my face and my pants and my car. It was a battle. I was wrestling with this burrito for a good portion of the drive and was probably one ill-timed bite from an accident. And while it was tasty, it seems wrong to keep finding little bits of egg in the creases of your clothing as you move forward with your day.