Sitting this morning sipping my Sunday morning coffee, I flicked through the paper and cast my mind back over last night: BBQ – Good? Check, no spillages, no faux pas rating higher than a 6: Drink at the pub on the way home – Good? Check, aargh – memory flash, leaning in to make chit chat with the handsome barman when finally I got my chance, elbow narrowly misses edge of bar, causing me to face plough glass of wine. Not cool, and remembering this is not a good start to the day.
Never defeated, I turned the day around with a spot of vintage shopping at the Thread Den vintage market in North Melbourne. A decade of shopping for work has turned me into a lazy scanner, but fortunately I had Peta my personal spotter with me, who eyeballed these undeniably smokin’ shoes which went so beautifully with the snakeskin clutch I’d already nabbed, and which freakishly fitted my duck feet. Fate. As I was moved to remark – if these shoes don’t get me a husband then nothing will.
Look at them! I’m practically engaged.
And notice please the perfection orange dress which Peta previously bought but was too small. Ah, sob. Note to all: Only ever shop with friends who have different taste to you or are a different size.