Tom is rooting (the American definition) through gear on our canoe trip. We both love to wear travel pants that have zip-off legs. Unfortunately, the week after being on the water for two days, he had peel-off legs. The mammoth sheets of harvested, sunburned skin laying on our coffee table right now are equally impressive as horrifying. I keep thinking there is an art project calling out there, but it's probably saying something more like, "You guys are truly the definition of gross."
Our neighbor, Laura, took this at dinner last night. I'm wearing a paisley gold-sequined kameez that we had custom made in India a few years ago with flowery lace tights and purple boots. If I were to describe my style, it would be something like "Transitional, eclectic six-year-old left to her own devices to dress herself." My bangs, or "fringe" as they call it here are at that awkward growing-out stage and pinned back.
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