Bar rules

The other day, I ended up at a bar without really intending to. Which is to say I was not dressed for it. I had on, from the outside in and down:

navy blue cashmere hoodie
blue cardi
white sleeveless tee
pink pants
blue and yellow polka dot belt

I felt way too colorful for a bar. You do not wear pink pants to a bar.

I was not conscious of this rule until I saw myself in the foggy, pockmarked mirror in the lady's restroom, aka the seventh level of hell. The stall's doorlock would not latch, the wood construction was sticky (let's not even imagine why...very inconvenient when you have to brace yourself from falling over as you hover, drunk), and a strong malodorous smell lingered in the air.

But at least there was t.p.

When I returned to my seat, my beer glass had been refilled in my absence. "It's a miracle," I said.