I have a love hate relationship with denim. On the one hand, I really, really love it. I wear jeans pretty much every day, even in the summer. A good pair of jeans is my most important wardrobe staple. On the other hand, trying to find that perfect pair can be a nightmare. I’m not one of those girls who lives for the hunt. Does it make my butt look good? Is it going to stretch? I don’t want to deal with it. I try to find a fit that I like and stick with it.
While the words “spontaneous beach day” may elicit squeals of excitement and delight for some, to me those three words strung together sound about as fun and frivolous as “the bar exam.” If you were to invite me to a “spontaneous beach day” this would be my response via text:
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There are a lot of things about men I’ll never understand. One of them is their penchant for bad tattoos.
First, let’s clarify, there are two types of bad tattoos. Accidentally bad tattoos, and purposefully bad tattoos. My boyfriend of six years (the one holding our fluffy dog), has both.