slobber, slobber, slobber

I can't stand Wednesday. What I can't stand more, is how you spell it. It just took me like five minutes to figure out the correct spelling, with a dictionary, mind you. So now, my thought is lost. Great.

Okay, so what I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by the stupid English language was that Wednesday is the bane of my existence, because you're right in the middle of the week, with no escape. Saturday's almost there, but Monday's not far behind. It's like being in Limbo, when you think about it.

The best part of my day was screaming the address of the Dursley's in Social Studies. Just so you know, it's #4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. I feel so adventurous.

So, I wore my Chinatown glasses today, and everyone was like "Ooo, you got glasses." I was going to go along pretending that they were real glasses, but then I remembered that I would then have to wear them every day to keep up the charade, and I would eventually forget, or get sick of them. However, wearing them, I have never felt so smart! I think I understood math better because I was wearing them.

Perhaps glasses are like little brain ninjas, who invade the mind and only allow smart ideas to pass through it. Of course, that wouldn't really explain why I decided it was a good idea to attempt to rebel against the "NO SWIMMING IN THE WATER FOUNTAINS!" signs above the fountains, or why I accidentally spelled my last name wrong today.

Still, it's a theory.

Sweater, Antropologie(Sleeping on Snow, to be specific), boots, Franco Sarto, tights, found in the back of closet, glasses, Chinatown.

Anyway, this is what I wore today. I bought that sweater with all my money, and I don't regret it. IT HAS DOGS ALL OVER IT FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!!! Of course I had to buy it. The last picture is with my dog. Funny, right. The dog with the dog sweater? No? Yes? Maybe? I, for one, thought it was clever.

I'm a sweater hoarder, and I'm not afraid to admit it. I fear this new sweater may make my condition worse. It's a dangerous habit, and I'm working on it. Hah. I enjoy being a sweater hoarder. I must have fifty sweaters, and I can't get rid of one. I love them like my children, except they are better because they don't make loud, obnoxious noises, they don't smell like baby formula, and they look cuter.