Friday, September 27, 2013

Being Old is Not a Choice So Stop Hating Me For It


I know, I know. I haven't posted a thing in ages.
But remember the old saying, Silence is Golden.
Or if that's a bit too cliched for you, how about Rumi who said, 'In silence there is eloquence'.
Or 'Silence is the language of God, all else is poor translation'.

Anyway, I'm now on holidays & about to be driven down to Canberra to visit my daughter, Maeflower & her fiance Tacitus & stay in their Bijou Apartment. But before I go, I just had to go on about a few things.

First, the title of this blog entry. Isn't it adorable?
I totally stole it from manrepeller.com. , a blog I only discovered about ten minutes ago but the rest of the bloggo world discovered many blog years ago, which in case you were wondering is about the same length of time as dog years. The blogger, Leandra Medine originally wrote an entry called Being Priveliged is Not a Choice So Stop Hating me For It, which has been appropriated by others who have substituted the word 'priveliged' for  other words like 'stupid'.
I could spend hours thinking up a whole fistful of substitutes. But at this v. moment I can't think of a thing.
Maybe I will by the time I've reached the end of this post.

Then there's been NY Fashion Week, followed by London Fashion Week, followed by Milan Fashion Week. It's been exhausting trying to keep up.
Of course I've spent literally hours & hours  swiping my way on the iPad through acres of Street Style Photos taken outside the shows. I'm always desperate to pick up some fresh ideas. Or some rehashed old ideas at least.
But sadly, there didn't seem to be any. Everyone was desperately clutching their Clutch Bags that makes them all look like they're frantically trying to get to the Post Office before it shuts so they can post a Giant Colourful Envelope.
And there's the Towering Inferno Chunky Heels that most people seemed to be wearing. How the hell they can walk & text in them at the same time is beyond me. In fact, I think it's so technically difficult, it should be an Olympic Event. But I did notice that some people were wearing what appeared to be flats. Perhaps brogues. Or even maybe School Shoes. I was thrilled.

Finally there was the Emmys.
Again, I desperately swiped my way through hundreds of Big Red Carpet Dresses only to be puzzled.
And underwhelmed.
And a Bit Sick.
All that Bilious Pink.
You see, my benchmark of what makes a great Red Carpet Dress is if I would wear it. Which cuts out just about every dress to start with because I'm certainly never going to show off large swathes of arms & cleavage & perhaps Side Boob because sadly, I'm not Helen Mirren. But usually, I manage to find something I would wear on the off chance that I'd be going on a Red Carpet.
This time there was Absolutely Nothing.
I was so desperate that I found myself quite liking Lena Dunham's Huge O'ersized Floral Prada Dress which made her look like a v. large rosebush.

Time to go. And I've just thought of another Substitute Word:
Being Silent is Not Always a Choice So Stop Hating Me For It.

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