Pants (that's what British people call underwear)

I don't like wearing pants. Well, not pants in particular, I guess you could say "bottoms." If I had a dime for everytime I got dressed, felt great about what I had on, but ended up going, "Damn. I have nothing on my bottom half" or, if it's cold, "I have nothing on top of these tights," I would have quite a few dimes and one quarter (Hey! Where'd that come from!?). But, I digress.

Today, as I wandered around my too warm apartment in shorts-underwear (that's what I call boyshorts) and a cropped hot pink cashmere cardigan I got for like two dollah at the J.Crew sample sale, I realized what my wardrobe was missing and what would solve my bottom hate conundrum: lots and lots of highwaisted shorts. Now, I didn't see this coming either. I generally reserve highwaisted to skirts because they, as Stacey of Stacey and Clinton fame would say, "flow away from the body." But, alas, here I am realizing they are what I want and what I need.

Maybe it's the mimosa made with vodka speaking (that's what I call screwdrivers. They get me through my LAST SET OF STUDENT CRITIQUES I EVER HAVE TO WRITE. HOLY COW I'M GRADUATING AND I [possibly] NEVER HAVE TO WRITE CRITIQUES FOR OTHER STUDENTS AGAIN) but I really think I should buy some highwaisted shorts. It's hot out. I have a few cool shirts I cut the bottoms off of when I was like 14 that I still want to wear but are too short. The decision has been made.

I'm worried.




Oh. Hello Brigitte. This is part of my continuing effort to put to use my insane Pictures folder. Also she is the bomb.