hashtag talk in a lurid pink jersey
Got told off for running in an art gallery today. Nearly thirty. Still being an idiot in public. I feel like talking in hashtags so here it is: #poorimpulsecontrol.
That's the long weekend done and over with, people. Hope you're having a lovely start to the week wherever you are.
And for pete's sakes - don't run in the art gallery. Walk.
. Like a lady.
The most colourful person in the room. As per usual.
This was a dark room with this CRT tv playing a black and white subtitled documentary about African tribal masks.
Hey, can we talk about fash-yon for a sec? I bought this Mean-Girls pink waffly jersey from
lukewarm recommendation ("
okay quality, a bit scratchy. Mainly bought it for the colour"
). I gotta say, it fits my winter jumper requirements perfectly. Roomy, slouchy, suitably 90s.
However, it's so sneakily normcore that I had to dial it back up a notch and pair it with this bewildering piece of hardware from
around my neck. My husband laughed when he saw me wearing it. But that's okay 'cause that sometimes happens. I was really attracted to it because it felt like a necklace that couldn't make up it's mind about what it was (
am I Aztec? Or punk? Or sort of teen witchy Pagan?
) so it decided to be everything all at once! I like that approach to life.
Most of all, I felt like this was what my Vault Dweller character would wear after she'd spent some time in the Wasteland running with the raiders in Fallout 3. I know that game was, like, six years ago, but I still love it. Right? Right? Right.
Looking sheepishly into the distance.