The shorts never made it out last the weekend after all, but I’m hopeful they will soon. In the meantime, I’ve come an acceptance that chicks really dig the boyfriend jeans, but guys less so. You can’t win ’em all.
I found myself on a dancefloor on Sunday evening, standing beside a giant. The top of my head barely made it to his nipple. Anyway, I gave him my iPhone and told him to take a shot of the dancefloor. This was one of the three (with a couple of tweaks by me). A shame, really, the other two were on the blurry side. How strange it must be to be forever looking over or at the top of others’ heads. (That’s his beer in my right hand, just in case anyone thinks I was being a total monster with the booze, going double-barrelled.)