I’m not sure how to describe my “style”. I don’t really own a lot of clothes. We were forced to leave half of my great stuff on a curb in Johannesburg. Its a long story but we left Africa by the seat of our pants. Or in my case, without my pants.
I know they look all Goth, but they are called Bond Girls Boots. As in, James Bond……
I bought them 11 years ago when we lived in Chicago and I’ve walked 47 million miles in them since then. I wear them with jeans and skirts and dresses and pink flowery things.
These exact ones by Yippee Ki Yay. I can’t even tell you how much fun they are to wear. I wear them with sun-dresses and skinny jeans and WHATEVS. I like to be able to throw anything on and not think about it too much. I think about it when I buy it and then never again. I don’t really care about matching.
But today, all of my past purchases, and immediate, thoughtless choices, converged into one truly frightening arrangement.
We’d been at the park all morning and it was 500 degrees out so I took a shower during lunch. (Not simultaneously…)
Afterwards we were going to Honey’s house for dinner and I was in a hurry so I threw on a few things. I put on a new killer pair of jeans that are sized long. So they don’t work with my boat shoes (until I wash them and shrink them to death). So I tpulled on my cowboy boots….
And then I glanced in the mirror.
What the! On Earth! I can’t even!! Wha!!! No!!!!
And I changed faster than anyone in history. Now, I’m not knocking Mr. Bret Michaels. Its just that I DON’T WANT TO BE HIS TWIN.
Know what I’m saying?