Earlier today, I was composing a blog entry about how I’ve been depressed for the past few days. Not the horrible can’t-get-outta-bed depression. More like the unmotivated, blah, can’t-get-anything-right low-grade depression where I can function, even put on a good face, but I’d much rather be in my pajamas at home, watching two month’s worth of Oprah reruns and eating candy cane Joe-Joe’s.

After dropping Clara Jane off at school, I went to Target in an attempt to deal with my funk in one of many possible unhealthy ways – shopping therapy. I got a pair of purple wedge-heeled Mary Janes for $4. Only one pair left, and they were in my size. That’s how you can tell if I’m struggling – I buy shoes. This week I’ve purchased the purple MJs, a pair of vintage red and white spectator pumps, and I bid on a pair of shiny black Dansko Mary Janes on ebay, and fortunately lost.  I buy shoes when I’m angry (spite shoes) and when I’m depressed (sad shoes).

I wandered the aisles for nearly two hours, doing sort of a browsing meditation and I did feel a little better.

Then I felt guilty for buying shoes.

I’ve got paperwork I need to organize for the upcoming school auction, so I went to the coffeehouse to have a latte and organize. As I was gathering my things in the truck, do you know who I saw walking into the coffeehouse?

Elvis.

Okay, so he’s a faux Elvis. He hangs with the owner of two local radio stations who frequents the coffeehouse. I’ve mentioned him before. He has a mullet and always wears white lizard skin ankle-high cowboy boots, which is pretty spectacular in and of itself.

Actually, it turns out the station owner keeps the faux Elvis on staff. I learned that today because, since I had all my auction paperwork with me and I cannot miss an opportunity to be a part of a spectacle, I asked faux Elvis if he would like to contribute.

There might be some pro wrestling tickets in Clara Jane’s school auction! Elvis-related pro wrestling!

For the past hour, I have shuffled my papers, pretending to not pay attention to the spectacle at the table five feet in front of me. Faux Elvis (who’s clad in head-to-toe black) and the station owner have been arguing while the station owner’s girlfriend/wife has applied a full face of makeup over an already full face of makeup.

Not only is this the first time I’ve dined in a restaurant with an off-duty faux Elvis and had a faux Elvis offer wrestling tickets to me, it’s also the first time I’ve seen an eyelash curler make an appearance at a restaurant table.

This entry originally was going to make mention that I think, perhaps, I might need more Prozac but let me tell you, this shit is better than any antidepressant ever made. It might even be better than Stag tallboys.

Today just might be the greatest day of my life, if the urge to take a picture doesn’t knock me dead.