Wild Card Days
Say no to the Gingham shirt boys. just don't do it. it isn't summer. put it in the back of the closet or in a box. Such a fashion pet peeve of mine. and it is excruciating when they are wrinkled too.
How do you define an English boy flirting? when he looks at you for more than a millesecond and then rushes to save my Nivea lipgloss from the offending tiles at the Starbucks till, and again when lingering his glance at me in painfull frustration, as i decide to do him a favour and ask for the skim milk (for my fair trade filter with shot of sugar free hazelnut) which stands ready for action by his elbow. i think he wanted to marry me. too bad they are so shy that they never ask.
My spirits were dismal and grey yesterday. Despite chanting all my blessings that i have and for which i should be uplifted into the realm of happiness, i felt like a black suede shoe that had seen better more fashionable days and whose tip of the kitten heel had been chewed off by a london city street. then, i thought, just give yourself a break. Actually, even if we have lucky and beautiful lives, we can't be happy all the time. And as females, moodiness is about balancing hormones anyway. it is natural and should be left to find its own equilibrium. But how pedantic can i be about this? well, in 365 days of the year, given that i lead an amazing life and am really lucky (touch wood), in theory, genetics aside (and i have some bad genes there) i should be happy a majority of the time. If i was to be happy 4/5ths of the time ( i am quite the VIRGO perfectionist), that is 292 days of confident, sassy happiness exuding from me. That leaves 73 days of the year to be a raging, grumpy, snappy, morose, be-aatch. Theoretically, each of those days i also have an excuse to eat whatever i want and not work out. That means that I have 6 days per month of these days. i shall heretofore name them Wild Card Days. One down, 5 to go!
How do you define an English boy flirting? when he looks at you for more than a millesecond and then rushes to save my Nivea lipgloss from the offending tiles at the Starbucks till, and again when lingering his glance at me in painfull frustration, as i decide to do him a favour and ask for the skim milk (for my fair trade filter with shot of sugar free hazelnut) which stands ready for action by his elbow. i think he wanted to marry me. too bad they are so shy that they never ask.
My spirits were dismal and grey yesterday. Despite chanting all my blessings that i have and for which i should be uplifted into the realm of happiness, i felt like a black suede shoe that had seen better more fashionable days and whose tip of the kitten heel had been chewed off by a london city street. then, i thought, just give yourself a break. Actually, even if we have lucky and beautiful lives, we can't be happy all the time. And as females, moodiness is about balancing hormones anyway. it is natural and should be left to find its own equilibrium. But how pedantic can i be about this? well, in 365 days of the year, given that i lead an amazing life and am really lucky (touch wood), in theory, genetics aside (and i have some bad genes there) i should be happy a majority of the time. If i was to be happy 4/5ths of the time ( i am quite the VIRGO perfectionist), that is 292 days of confident, sassy happiness exuding from me. That leaves 73 days of the year to be a raging, grumpy, snappy, morose, be-aatch. Theoretically, each of those days i also have an excuse to eat whatever i want and not work out. That means that I have 6 days per month of these days. i shall heretofore name them Wild Card Days. One down, 5 to go!
posted by miss goLondon at 10:51 AM
1 Comments:
wild card days, yeah, I know what you mean. But you're working to pretty good odds though, so go with it. And why is it that London pavements only seem to want to attack your favorite boots? My new-ish black suede kitten heels look as if they've been chewed by a pack of rabid squirrels, and yet my old trainers look immaculate. Sometimes life is truly unfair.
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