We had tea at the Brown Palace yesterday with our neighbors - it was lovely. We sipped from fine china and nibbled sandwiches without crusts. We sat up straight. After our tea, still dressed in our tea-drinking garb (nary a lacrosse short or Ugg in sight) and emitting a certain "we just had tea" vibe, we hopped in our Volvo wagon, loaded with reusable grocery bags and lacrosse gear, and cruised back to Suburbia to the amplified base of some song that includes the word 'booty' in it about 700 times and describes in great detail, just what the 'booty' in question should be doing. Like it or not, these songs have become part of our family's soundtrack. For now.
At first we felt bad about not putting our foot down more firmly when it came to language or subject matter in a song. We tried and failed - it was too big to fight. Then we volunteered to chaperone a dance at the high school. While we casually conversed with teachers and other parents, all sorts of F-bombs and booties blasted from the sound system. No one even flinched. I thought for sure, once an administrator heard the words to "Wobble" by V.I.C., they'd race across dance floor to unplug the speakers and send everyone home to think about Shame or Guilt or something. But they just stood there with us discussing the Honor's History assignment the kids were completing while the music played on.
I must admit, some of those songs have a great beat - you can't help but get into them (lyrics aside). After a while, I hardly notice what they're saying and find myself cruising back from the orthodontist singing along to "Booty Wurk" by T. Pain and looking through a rear-view mirror that is shaking back and forth because the base is turned up all the way. And yeah, when I pull into the Target lot, is that swagger I feel? Could be. Or I may just be excited about the new beach towels on sale.
I'm wearing this today:
Because Geraldine Saglio wore something similar. See?
Skinny jeans, flats and a simple t-shirt will ALWAYS work - whether you're on a crowded Paris street or in your messy kitchen in Colorado.
Purple bras, on the other hand, do not always work.
Seriously, what kind of perverted camera does that?
gratitude: accountants, sandal weather, Spring Break, hamburgers
thanks and love.