|Top: Lindex, Shorts: Madewell, Bangles: Thrifted, Necklace: Museum gift shop,|
Sandals: Birkenstock, Bag: from a hipster coffee shop
So you may have noticed my last blogpost didn't contain my usual verbal diarrhoea. Fact is, when I was putting it together, I'd just been friend-dumped - again. Seriously, these past couple of years I seem to do nothing but tick people off, for the - to me - weirdest things. This time, I was lucky in that Victor was home when my breakup package arrived - a huge cardboard box full of books I had previously given to this friend. (Ironically, the one book I would have liked to get back was not in there. Oh well, there's always Amazon.) So when I opened it, he was right there, and snatched out the breakup letter on top of the pile before I could get to it.
"Do you want me to read this for you," he said. I mean, how awesome of a man is he? I said yes, because I knew right away this was nothing good - the literal pile of books aside, we're talking about a person who'd normally write on nice stationery. Only this had been written on a page ripped out of a lined notebook.
"Is it a breakup letter," I asked, while I shoved the books into plastic bags for donation.
"Yeah," he replied, curling it up and heading for the kitchen, where the recycling bin sits.
Without getting into gritty details, I had told this person that she'd hurt my feelings. Rather than say she was sorry, she decided to end the friendship - although the word "sorry" did appear in the letter once, apparently. She was "sorry things hadn't worked out".
The two friends I've told about this (before, you know, telling the internet as of right now), think this is all completely nuts, and that none of it was my fault. But then, all three of us are Norwegian, born in the same year, and grew up in the same little town. Maybe it's natural for us to agree. Maybe it really is all my fault. Cue some nice angsty music like, I dunno... the angstiest song I can currently think of is Ground Control to Major Tom, but then my taste is pretty weird.
Anyway. This was supposed to be a post about how I lusted over these shorts for most of last year, ordered them and then went to Hong Kong, where I randomly walked past a woman wearing these exact shorts. Not quite as crazy as that woman I saw walking an OCELOT on a leash, on a previous trip to Honkers. ("My ocelot could totally eat your dog. Wimp." etc.) What can I say? Regular programming will resume next week.