Every once in a while we all get a little too big for our britches.
I mean figuratively, not literally. If I literally get too big for my britches, I just stop eating so much pie.
Actually that's a lie. I keep eating the pie. I just also run until I die.
I've heard that bad rhyming also can help with tight britches.
When we figuratively get too big for our britches, the universe always has a way to knocking us down a few pegs.
I'll admit, I was pretty pleased with myself yesterday afternoon.
I'd written what I thought was a rather witty post which to my delight had yielded a number of comments.
I was thrilled with the revelation that I would soon be traveling through time in either a phone booth or a Delorean. Or a Chevy Cavalier. Whatever. I'm flexible.
And I was imagining clothes shopping with RT: "No, RT, not the sequined pants! And get that shirt in a bigger size."
The universe was not going to stand for my excitement so today it took action.
First, it pushed me down. Then while I was writhing on the ground in pain, it kicked me in the stomach. Finally, for good measure, it took my wallet (and on pay day too!)
Unfortunately I'm afraid that my come-upons aren't totally finished either because, despite the universe's interference, I'm feeling rather adorable today.
Reverie Blouse, Anthropologie
Cardigan, Banana Republic
Tulip Pencil Skirt, Banana Republic
Sofft Fiorella Pumps, Nordstrom (available here)
Artist's Palette Necklace, Anthropologie (available here)
Bracelets, Inch of Gold cruise ship purchases
And three people said they liked my shoes.
I am so going to get it tomorrow.
I might not leave the house.