Overheard, in the airport:
Old lady: “That needlepoint is so lovely! No one ever does needlepoint anymore.”
Young lady, with a knowing nod: “True.”
OL: “What’s it going to be?”
YL: “Some naked ladies at a bacchanal.”
OL: “Oh.” [congratulates self for flying Southwest, where she can choose seat far, far away from heathen-sewer]
This new Tord Boontje lamp looks like a butterfly impaled itself on a tulip. In a good way, of course.
I’ve always loved Showpony’s Etsy shop, and now she’s got her very own space on the web. My picks? Besides the hot dog pillows, I choose the cheekily printed vintage purses & totes. Ladylike, but not precious.
To celebrate, enter helloshowpony at checkout for 15% off your order.
I’m not particularly proud of my litany of scars; they read as a topography of idiotic skateboard accidents and aggrieved cat scratches.
But on my left shin, there’s a smiling crescent where I, undeterred, scaled a vanity, then balanced on a mirror to polish a light fixture.
Needless to say, I fell. Leg breakage ensued.
One day, I thought, this will be funny. Or if not funny, at least ridiculously memorable.
That’s the story I’ll tell–that I was young and clean, and life seemed pliable–when you ask about my new necklace.
Yes, these shoes are Crocs.
It can be our little secret.
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