The Re-Pantsing of The Aging Hipster: Volume 1

DAY ONE:

The shaving of my face and scalp happened today. Three loads of laundry were done yesterday. Four out of five people conclude - I do not smell as bad as I once did.
The one differing opinion doesn't ever think I smell respectable and is, by all accounts, immune to my musky charms. I dismiss this opinion slightly more quickly than I dismiss all other opinions.
Pants were worn (pajama bottoms count as pants, don't they?) and my job was attended. Some of my job was even accomplished. Bar orders were made - Suppliers were yelled at - Power Point presentations were updated.
My co-workers went for beer after work. I joined them and, using all my will power, stuck to black coffee.
I was very proud of myself so when I got home I treated myself by immediately disrobing and a drinking a bottle of Scotch.
There is still much work to be done.

DAY TWO:

Woke up around noon to the news I had to be at work in 45 minutes. Despite this setback, I still manage to hose myself off, find a Mr. T shirt (on which he claims to "Pity The Fool") and fashion a crude skirt from unused wrapping paper and leftover chewing gum from my stocking.
Since I have clean pants I am as puzzled by this behaviour as everyone around me.
City officials and camera crews were babysat while commercials were filmed. I almost kept it together but lost points by forgetting to cross my legs. I'm not used to sitting in an Xmas wrap skirt.
In public.
Upon returning home, Barb tells me I smell of stale booze and despair.

DAY THREE:

Woke up at noon - fairly straight as long as pills don't count. They WERE prescribed by a doctor.
Not to me, but aren't we all the same underneath?
I feel I'm backsliding. I don't work until 5 p.m. and I refuse to wear pants until the last minute. This policy makes fetching the mail and blue box from the end of the lane both predictably chilly and strangely arousing.
Don't let anyone tell you I'm not the SOUL of compromise ... as I am convinced to put on pants at 4:55 for my entrance into the building. Once I get into my office, anything goes, so please knock first.
The rest of my shift was fairly uneventful until the end of the night when (not lying here) I had to shake down an Elvis impersonator for our share of the merchandise sales.
I come home, pour myself a drink and make a blog entry ...

THE END?
(the question mark at the end leads you to believe it might not really be the end)