I have the best mom ever. She calls me, watches out for me, patiently listens to my dog anxieties, and sends me awesome packages for my birthday. In this most recent one, along with movies and treats, were the educational and trashy magazines I requested. I’ve been down with a cold, so I saved National Geographic for more coherent times and went right for this bad boy.
Glamour is engaging, vapid, and completely baffling to me in my Peace Corps induced state of lack and grottiness. Nevertheless, I made an attempt to relate some of it to my life. Here we go.
This happens to me sometimes.
Mostly because doing laundry is a several hour process with potentially many days of drying time more than any conscious fashion decision. I usually look about as happy as that model about it, too. It’s stressful to be down to your last pair or two of underpants.
That sex thing? Is it sex? Whatever it is, I can guarantee you that every girl isn’t being asked. Please see this entry from my favorite PC blog for some illumination:
What if it looks like you borrowed the bottom half of a Chewbacca costume? But it doesn’t matter, because 0% of men are seeing or touching my legs (see sex paragraph above). Also, how can "all about you" and "what men think" ever be logically backslashed together?
This is a thing I’m seriously thinking of trying.
I can’t possibly be stared at more, so might as well be a sparkly gringa.
I can’t possibly be stared at more, so might as well be a sparkly gringa.
Apparently these are things that people spend 1/2 of my paycheck on.
I could probably pull one off here if I wore it over my longjohns and under my regular pants.
I could probably pull one off here if I wore it over my longjohns and under my regular pants.
Wait…wait…floppy hats? (I don't know how to make this not sideways, sorry.)
I win!
Apparently living one country over from the equator and close enough to the sun to hit it with a rake makes you chic. Victory!
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