instead of "Well shit, son"
you read it as "Well-shit, son!"
I was walking along the Great Highway with my totally pasty, unshaven legs chilling out in striped shorts (rather inappropriate for the bitingly cold wind, for the record), when I asked my mom to take an outfit photo with her phone for my blog. Immediately after she snapped the first one, I was shat on by a bird.
Well-shit, son.
Then my grandma made me go buy a Lotto ticket for good luck.
I guess I must not be very lucky, because I didn't win. Maybe the third time's the charm. I've only been pooped on by birds twice, after all. (The first time was in fourth grade. I was wearing glasses, and it somehow pooped on my left eye in the space between the glass and my face. Well-shit indeed, son.)
By the way, here's the first of the many friendship bracelets I GAVE MYSELF TENDINITIS making.
Hat: gift. Sweater: old school uniform. Striped denim shorts: aunt's. Boots: Steven by Steve Madden. Bracelets: gift and DIY.
No comments:
Post a Comment