Dear Guy in Gloria Jean’s.
You’re inside. Thoroughly inside, esconced in ‘mood lighting’ and an ambient, ‘warm’ color scheme of latte and burgundy. Outside it is overcast and has been raining heavily. You may have needed the leather jacket out there, but in here nothing can excuse the pretentious git sunglasses covering half your face.
P.S. I hate spammers. Particularly when they leave irrelevant and moronic advertisements on every post I’ve put up in the last, oh, month?
Removed now, after much whinging, moaning, and tabbing back and forth on my part. Bastards.
P.P.S. What I DO love is finding this season’s shoes in Savers. For 12.99. And then discovering that despite their tagged size (8) and my nominal shoe size (9) they FIT. Happy Cinderella moment, or it would have been had the two blue-rinse ladies behind me been bluebirds, the said shoes glass slippers instead of wooden-soled wedges…and my baby-blue Levis a ballgown. There’s just something so inescapably WHOLESOME about faded Levis. I’ll probably cry a little when they get to the stage of whorishly threadbare as opposed to pleasantly scuffed and washed to flannelette softness, but for now they’re perfect.
No, you don’t get photos. We’ve been over this.
(a) I have no idea about lighting, composition, and generally what makes a ‘good’ photo
(b) With only myself around and no tripod, it’s freaking difficult to take a photo of anything on my body, and I assure you it’s far, FAR too cold to remove any clothing just so it can be photographed and added to a blog five people a month read.
(c) I’m lazy.
Just go and stroke your favorite flannelette pj pants (DON'T try to tell me you're too cool to own any, I won't believe you and will laugh uproariously) while picturing the best jeans you've ever owned. Yeah. Feels like that. See? Much better than a photo of some random patch of denim.