I'm holed up in the coziest of houses, with a blazing fire casting an orange glow on frosted glass panes. With snow fighting its way inside on rugged soles, my style has reverted to gray fleece pants and flannel shirts, and my hair is always down to shield my ears from cold. When I put on my motorcycle boots, I felt kind of like a lumberjack.
I say this in the past tense because my motorcycle boots broke yesterday.
I'm very upset. Apparently one should not put their trust in Charles Albert.
I've tried to include some slightly fashion-y elements in this post, but with the scent of smoke wafting delicately through the air, I'm too deliciously drowsy to think much about I'm wearing.
It happens to all of us, sometimes.
Well, I'm not completely out of the fashion loop. I can't help but reflect on the fact that the rosy glow my cheeks get from a long walk beneath fairy tale-frosted pines flatters me more than any application of blush could ever do.
Take that, M.A.C.
I'll be home by Friday, ready to embrace fashion once more. Hopefully the Forever 21 sale that I read about as I scrolled through the subject lines of my email messages will still be going on then.