under the blanket

[Bimbo alert] I miss my wardrobe. I miss my flirty vintage skirt. I miss my purple Camper flipflops and my rainbow-striped slip-ons. I miss my orange shopping basket and my red bucket bag. I miss my skimpy sleeveless tops, every single one of them, now that summer is here. All I have are three paltry T-shirts, two pairs of capris, one skirt and one lousy pair of free slippers from Cosmo with no friction whatsoever which, literally, might be the death of me.

It was yet another glorious day. Leicester Square was full of women parading around in as little clothing as possible, mocking me with their lovely sundresses, halter-neck tops, cute tote bags, and strappy sandals. But I gotta control my shop addiction until I arrive in Barcelona where I will release my pent-up urge to splurge.

Somehow, in my deluded mind, the departure date for Barcelona seems really near, a mere 20 days that will pass in a flash. Yet, when I think about my major deadline in 18 days, I convince myself that there is still plenty of time to conduct 10 interviews, lie in the sun, write two big stories, lie in the sun, re-angle another piece, lie in the sun, and layout a whole magazine, on top of a sub-editing exam next Tuesday. And did I mention catching some sunshine?