Striped Dress / Somervell Necklace / Loeffler Randall Quinnie / Said Yes Tulle Skirt / Karolina Pumps / Slim Crystal Bow Cuff
About eight days into the Northwest January, I start to get tired of the season. Tired of my boots that are scuffed. Tired of my work heels that have taken the abuse of an entire year (rain and daily-wear isn't kind on suede). Tired of my work slacks that look kinda smudgy. Tired of the umbrella that's always wet. Tired of my hair. My hair ties. My face in its most-pallid state. Tired of the makeup I need to use to cover the bags under my eyes that are only alleviated by sunshine and a bit of a tan. And I have about six months to go before the rain lets up and we emerge from the 40-50 degree temps into a mild, gorgeous summer.
Six months. Six months of... tights. Of rain. Puddles. Umbrellas needed for the walk to work. Of my down jacket. Six months of feeling like my legs are too white to expose to anyone but the shower tiles. Ugh.
I want to be flitting through tulip fields, wine tasting on sunny porches, standing on the balcony with a glass of rose. I'd really like to bypass all this wet and get to the flowers. Get to the nude heels, the snakeskin prints, the fun cross-body bags and tulle skirts. I want to layer up on necklaces and spend a day in a botanical garden strolling. I want cocktails that don't make you chillier on the inside. I want open windows and sweltering upstairs rooms with ceiling fans a whir. I want white dresses with fun belts and purses with bows on them.
If I could find some sunshine, and a porch to sit on, I'd wear the feminine floaty pieces above and feel utterly at piece. Instead, I think I'll fall asleep under nineteen blankets and dream about what I'd wear to work tomorrow if I knew it wasn't going to be sopping wet.
About eight days into the Northwest January, I start to get tired of the season. Tired of my boots that are scuffed. Tired of my work heels that have taken the abuse of an entire year (rain and daily-wear isn't kind on suede). Tired of my work slacks that look kinda smudgy. Tired of the umbrella that's always wet. Tired of my hair. My hair ties. My face in its most-pallid state. Tired of the makeup I need to use to cover the bags under my eyes that are only alleviated by sunshine and a bit of a tan. And I have about six months to go before the rain lets up and we emerge from the 40-50 degree temps into a mild, gorgeous summer.
Six months. Six months of... tights. Of rain. Puddles. Umbrellas needed for the walk to work. Of my down jacket. Six months of feeling like my legs are too white to expose to anyone but the shower tiles. Ugh.
I want to be flitting through tulip fields, wine tasting on sunny porches, standing on the balcony with a glass of rose. I'd really like to bypass all this wet and get to the flowers. Get to the nude heels, the snakeskin prints, the fun cross-body bags and tulle skirts. I want to layer up on necklaces and spend a day in a botanical garden strolling. I want cocktails that don't make you chillier on the inside. I want open windows and sweltering upstairs rooms with ceiling fans a whir. I want white dresses with fun belts and purses with bows on them.
If I could find some sunshine, and a porch to sit on, I'd wear the feminine floaty pieces above and feel utterly at piece. Instead, I think I'll fall asleep under nineteen blankets and dream about what I'd wear to work tomorrow if I knew it wasn't going to be sopping wet.