Sunday, November 13, 2011

saturday in prospect park

see how i put that saturday in the title? that's because i wanted you to think, dog my cats, did i put on even one item of clothing on saturday (and some of you can stop right there) that did not have EZ-schlub elastic? i wanted you to scratch the old bean and then the old bum in perplexity over the very notion of sanding your callouses and filing your nasty toenails so they won't snag the living daylights out of lacey tights which you delicately wiggle into ON A SATURDAY. WHEN THE QUEEN IS NOT COMING OVER. stretches the imagination to the breaking point, doesn't it? especially if you're a guy.

the dashing hat and dickens-y fingerless gloves are a dead give-away, the siren song of street stylists. and it worked. although i think she was hoping for The Sartorialist or Garance Dore or someone who didn't have to fossick around in a big plastic tote, that held among other victuals a bottle of local merlot, for a camera with no lens and one big red button. lookit-- it really did make a pikchur! whatever, my friends, i was really on my game, layering pattern over pattern, walking very naturally in heels, scaring children and cats.

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