Every morning I wake up to see the countdown on my surfing-themed calendar (don't ask but just know that Walton's is no Cotton On) to the beginning of the September long-weekend-posing-as-a-holiday when I'll get to go to Istanbul (as in Turkey, yo) and do what the likes of Carrie Bradshaw, Blair Waldorf, Naomi Clark were born to do: shop.
And shop hard. Those clothing racks are gonna feel so violated when I'm done with them.
We've been saving up since last year for this trip where, by the by, in Turkey everything is a lot, a lot cheaper. And because I don't want to fall to the Oh-My-God-I-Want-Everything Syndrome where I end up buying a ton of shit I don't need; I've been constructing wish lists with the help of Polywhore.
I can't wait to get a hold of some graphic pencil skirts and OH MY GOD, I'm prepared to slay someone for some Nike Free Runs and how long have I been lusting over platform sneakers a la Spice Girls? And three syllables:
DIS CO PANTS.
DIS CO PANTS.
DIS CO PANTS.
I'm not really a sandal person because I've got that thing about toes and shoes have to be pretty exceptional for me to break out the digits. But it does get really hot in the summer (like, surface of the sun in the middle of February without any air-conditioning hot) and I guess it's kinda, sorta, maybe unreasonable to think that my knee-high riding boots are trans-seasonal even though they should be. But, aha, a wonderful compromise has been made in the form of jelly sandals.
Not only do these remind me of the tiny little shoes my mom used to force me to wear every time I stepped outside, they also mean I get to display all of my tubular socks.
Haha, tubular.
Who writes this stuff?
I'm a bit deranged and I've typed 'I', like, three hundred and seventy-nine times. That's what happens when you have an influenza/the plague hybrid.
Oh, well.
Yours,
Khenzo
Excuse me while I go die.
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We can also talk about the overweight, grey cat I'm gonna name Atticus one day or how you're feeling.