Case in point: Yesterday morning I got up, stumbled into the shower (where I got soap in my eye and swore about it), then dashed back to the bedroom (dripping water all over the place and stubbing my toe) to get the towel I'd forgotten, dressed myself (successfully and without injury) and then made coffee (the iced, instant Starbucks kind, so no points for not burning or setting myself on fire). Fortified with a few sips of caffeine, I prepared to leave the apartment.
It was cold out yesterday (and is today) so I decided I needed my favorite black hoodie. I retrieved it from the bedroom and tried to put it on.
But there was a problem. I stood in the front hall holding it, and for a good ten or fifteen seconds I was SO PUZZLED. My hoodie wasn't working! There was something wrong with it! The zipper wasn't there. And it didn't have sleeves, or a hood.
Because it was a pair of pants.
I had picked up a pair of black sweats that were on the floor near my hoodie. (They should have been in the hamper, and the hoodie should have been hanging up, but the story of How and Why I Am Not Neat is an entirely different and longer tale). And I had tried, or at least thought about trying, to put those sweats on like a jacket.