I had a really, really great shopping outing on Saturday. One of those, "everything you see is adorable, marked down to 30% of its original price, there's only one left, and it's your size," kind of shopping outings. You couldn't slap the shit-eating grin off my face for hours afterwards.
Unfortunately for me, I was so pleased with myself this morning when I was getting ready for work that I decided to wear a disproportionate number of my new purchases today -- all at once, whether it went together or not. About noonish, I looked down at myself and thought, "Self. It possibly was not the best call to wear this navy silk dress with your knee high boots, tux front tank top, ruffly cardigan, pearls and romantic, falling-in-your-face hair. Yeah. A little much." Good thing I proceeded to top it off with my red trench coat, so that most everyone who saw me coming or going would assume that I was either (a) an extremely famous person who could get away with looking like Olde Englishe Casuale Worke Weare exploded all over her, or (b) a meth addict.
I'm guessing most people went with (b). Sad.
Unfortunately for me, I was so pleased with myself this morning when I was getting ready for work that I decided to wear a disproportionate number of my new purchases today -- all at once, whether it went together or not. About noonish, I looked down at myself and thought, "Self. It possibly was not the best call to wear this navy silk dress with your knee high boots, tux front tank top, ruffly cardigan, pearls and romantic, falling-in-your-face hair. Yeah. A little much." Good thing I proceeded to top it off with my red trench coat, so that most everyone who saw me coming or going would assume that I was either (a) an extremely famous person who could get away with looking like Olde Englishe Casuale Worke Weare exploded all over her, or (b) a meth addict.
I'm guessing most people went with (b). Sad.
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