Being fancy.

I missed the lesson on how to dress like an actual ladylike person, wearing heels and proper stockings, with actual make-up that isn’t just tinted moisturiser and lip balm instead of pairing ‘quirkymachine-washable-ish dresses with black tights and gallumphing boots, like a kindergarten teacher who might find the nerve to stand up to the vice-principal one or twice a term.

Or maybe I was there and wasn’t paying attention.

But my face looks old now, which isn’t a sudden thing, but still surprises me several times a week. I found myself googling ‘exercises for jowls’ the other day. I managed one session of making goofy faces in the mirror before deciding I’d rather be sleeping or reading or doing anything else but worrying about my sagginess. Am I worth it? I haven’t a bloody clue.

So fuck it. I’ll just drink more water, hope for the best, and get on with my droopy life.

My fancy grandma would be so disappointed.


In related news, I went out for a swank supper and no one commented on the fact that my leggings and socks didn’t quite meet as the effect was mostly concealed by my clumpy boots. Score one for the badass would-be Montessori teacher.

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