|"Oh God, the box store! Help help!" Raincoat: London Fog; Brooch; vintage|
ALL suburbs are hellish to me, big, box- store laden, car-addled hells.
Remember, I was raised by hippies. I feel out of my natural habitat when I'm in the suburbs. I don't speak the language. I don't eat the food. I certainly don't wear the clothes. I am a stranger in a strange land, likely to arouse suspicion.
I don't like the suburbs and I doubt they like me much either.
But I venture forth into them anyway, just to see Beau and his boys.
|Shirt: Hunt Club (thrift); Vest: North 49; Glasses: Geek Eyewear|
Of course, since he's met me and taken an interest in style and his appearance, he doesn't fit in in the suburbs either. We sure don't fit in at Red Robin, I can tell you that, though I'll admit that the veggie burgers are good. And the kids get crayons.
There are merits to the suburbs, I suppose, like Beau's kitty, who has discovered my heating pad...
... and who is NOT fat, he swears. His head is just too little for his body, that's all.
There are more parks, but there are a lot of parks where I live too -- with the benefit that it is not the suburbs.
There, as here, it is spring already. But it's still the suburbs.
|Beau's shirt: American Eagle (thrift); Vest: North 49; Hat: Jaxon|