Retail therapy
Perhaps I should have added one last resolution to my list - I am determined to write at least a few lines in the blog each day. It makes for an interesting journey, reading back. So herewith a practical use of the 20 bare minutes I have between now and when I need to start painting over the cracks (read: put on make-up) for a foray to my favourite wine bar.
I worked out today that over the Christmas break I have made a veritable fortune from wielding my pen. In fact, sitting here this afternoon with a free agenda, I remain convinced that there must be an assignment I've forgotten - a discourse on the tendency for hemlines to rise in summer months, perhaps? But no - I have managed to get everything done on time to great aplomb and with many a "cheque is in the post" promise. So, to celebrate I visited the shopping faux-Mecca that is Perth city and proceeded to blow a wad of cash on a rainbow of tops.
It started well, as I picked out the suitable-for-work stretchy cotton numbers in neutral khaki and peacock. Inspired, I started roaming and that is where it started to unravel. Within the hour I had obtained a teal silk top with plaited straps, a dusky pink top with stitching detail and appliqued butterflies and flowers, and a softly fitted Alannah Hill singlet in moss green with silver detail. These charming items now sit in a meek little pile on my desk as I type, each clamouring to be worn first, while my credit card groans under the strain.
Things I did not find: work pants. From shorty-short shorts to extra long, extra wide trousers, the world of pants held little joy for me today.
Fascinating huh? Anyway, I needed the retail therapy after the past 24 hours, where life seemed to grind to a halt and I seemed unable to shake the desire to be solitary which was coupled uneasily with a desire to be entertained. Luckily Y sprang to the rescue, and over limited wine and minted ice-cream we swapped stories and watched the delightful Garden State yet again. We went to the video shop in search of "something funny" to no avail - banning myself from the art-house section and determined not to come home with the gritty, slice of life dramas that I am always drawn to - especially if produced in Paris, or anywhere else where clothes seem to fall of with a suck of a Gauloise and a raised eyebrow - I was left with a limited choice.
What does a girl have to do to find laughs in this town?