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Whee! Femme squee! I have new clothes.
I have a crisp blue criss cross pleated skirt that flares when I walk and a crisp white shirt with one giant blue embroidered rose to match. I may have to buy bobby socks and put my hair in a pony tail to properly express how 50s Prep this makes me feel. But in a good way, like those imaginary girls who smell softly of baby powder and never sweat.
And I have a cream skirt with an alpine village on it and coral trim just above the ruffle, which strikes me as exceedingly French though I have no idea why. And its coordinating light blue shirt with flattering scoop neck, and darts to give the illusion of waist.
And I have a fresh green viney top that makes me feel Springy and I am wearing right now, although sequins? Scratch.
Unfortunately I did not succeed in buying the green of the season, the one that everyone seems to call Green Tea although if anyone served me a cup of surgical scrubs I would certainly not drink it. It doesn't look good next to my face, so I must have tried on every green skirt or pair of pants in two stores, and got no love. (I would have done three, but the door guy at the first H&M said they have no plus sizes anymore, and the door guy at H&M redux said they're back at the first one. I gave up.)
Apparently I'm not *that* femme, though. I turned down a Day of Beauty at a new salon from some guy on the street on the grounds that while $60 is a good deal, it's more than I've got and it's such a good deal that it could be a scam, especially since they want you to decide right then.
Probably not, though, since he -- like all hairstylists -- was complimenting my unspoiled hair even after I said no. I think it must be a little like a field of snow without footsteps. Anyway, campy guys who want something are kinda fun. I've never been called Angel before.
I have a crisp blue criss cross pleated skirt that flares when I walk and a crisp white shirt with one giant blue embroidered rose to match. I may have to buy bobby socks and put my hair in a pony tail to properly express how 50s Prep this makes me feel. But in a good way, like those imaginary girls who smell softly of baby powder and never sweat.
And I have a cream skirt with an alpine village on it and coral trim just above the ruffle, which strikes me as exceedingly French though I have no idea why. And its coordinating light blue shirt with flattering scoop neck, and darts to give the illusion of waist.
And I have a fresh green viney top that makes me feel Springy and I am wearing right now, although sequins? Scratch.
Unfortunately I did not succeed in buying the green of the season, the one that everyone seems to call Green Tea although if anyone served me a cup of surgical scrubs I would certainly not drink it. It doesn't look good next to my face, so I must have tried on every green skirt or pair of pants in two stores, and got no love. (I would have done three, but the door guy at the first H&M said they have no plus sizes anymore, and the door guy at H&M redux said they're back at the first one. I gave up.)
Apparently I'm not *that* femme, though. I turned down a Day of Beauty at a new salon from some guy on the street on the grounds that while $60 is a good deal, it's more than I've got and it's such a good deal that it could be a scam, especially since they want you to decide right then.
Probably not, though, since he -- like all hairstylists -- was complimenting my unspoiled hair even after I said no. I think it must be a little like a field of snow without footsteps. Anyway, campy guys who want something are kinda fun. I've never been called Angel before.
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