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Last night, I went to the grocery store to pick up a few staple items. After chatting with a few fellow shoppers I had run into I made my way to the produce aisle. Where I saw - no joke - the most beautiful, put together woman ever. Like, what is she doing in Provo, gracing us all with her angel presence? And, being female, I was instantly mad at myself for even trying to be in the same room as her. Who did I think I was?? Her perfect lima bean colored dress (lima beans are green, aren't they?) was making me sick with its perfection.
Like.
Does perfection bore you, Lima Bean? Do you look at people like me and wish your hair would frizz a little, that you would repeat your outfits as often as I do? Do you ever want to let your nail polish chip? Or is this, the coiffed hair, the ironed shirts; is this your version of happiness?
So seriously—how many of your unborn children did you sell on the black market to master that top knot and perfect skin? Inquiring minds want to know. Your sweater definitely doesn't look like it came out of the dryer tangled up in a bra and underwear that has unraveled and wound its string around all your clothes so they're basically stuck with strangle lines the rest of their poor cotton lives. Explain what I'm doing wrong here, Lima Bean.
So I'm just throwing those questions out there for her in case she has time between getting ready and...getting ready to answer them. Thanks, Lima.
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In other news, we went to THE CUTEST farm (ranch? vineyard?) for FHE last night in Mapleton to pick raspberries. And I'm obsessed. Like, I'm ready to move there and be a berry farmer with bee hives! And reindeer! And goats!
ox/C
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