OK, so, last Saturday we had a “ladies night” for the outrageously fantastic Emma, who’s getting married this weekend! YAY!
And these socks? The socks of my dreams? I found them the day before and decided to bust them out for the special occasion. I was going for a 1940s wartime, underwear, make do and mend vibe. Do you see it?
|Who am I, Mr Burns? What’s going on with my hands here?|
Anyway, the night was awesome. I totally loved my outfit and a great time was had by all.
Then Sunday morning rocks around (I’m not even going to touch on how my head was feeling) and as I pour myself out of bed I catch sight of my legs and think, “Hello, what’s this?”
This? Was a rash. ALL OVER MY LEGS. Why, socks? WHY????
After much wailing to my friends and gnashing my teeth, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s because I didn’t wash them before I wore them. At least, dear god, I hope that’s all it is. Because I cannot accept the idea of being allergic to socks. Sorry. Not gonna happen.
|Nice little effect making me look like I’ve got a massive bruise there. I swear I don’t. Mine all congregate around my knees.|
So now, with this mega sexy rash and the litany of bruises on my knees from the 35,000 (give or take) push ups we did at training last night – I’m a regular Betty Grable up in here. And with a wedding this weekend… “Oh, hi tights I haven’t worn since last year…looking good. Say, wanna go out for a spin on Saturday?”
Ring: Urban Outfitters
Socks (cry): Sportsgirl