It’s been an age, darling. An age.
And while I was off unlocking the secrets of the universe, it would appear that you’ve done well for yourself. You look good. That thing you’ve done with your hair is nice.
I mean, yes. I have been slaving away in a gulag… and no, you didn’t even come looking for me… but I suppose that you thought I was living out my Bridget Jones fantasies. Not the one where I get Colin Firth to wear a Rudolph jumper {swoon}, but the messed up, less glamorous version from Bridget Jones 2: Age of Reason. You might recall that that’s the one where she gets thrown in a sweaty Thai prison. (Or maybe not, because that movie sucked.)
March through… well, now… has pretty much been been like that.
But don’t despair. If you’ve been following me on the ‘gram (that’s how the kids say it, right?!), you know I worked in a side trip after sticking it to the man and starting a prison riot.
That would be when I went to Japan, bitches!
It was in Japan that I unlocked one of the secrets of the universe. No, I didn’t receive sacred wisdom from a zen master. That part was a disappointment. I did, however, receive tons of delicious tonkastu, donburi, and train station izakaya IN MY MOUTH, which provided some minor consolation. But that’s neither here nor there…
No, what I discovered is bigger than that and way more disturbing. Namely, that Tokyo is where all the nude hosiery ever made has gone to die. Or, rather, to live. EVERYWHERE. But especially paired with frumpy, ankle length khaki skirts with elastic waist bands and white athletic shoes. I wish I was making this up, but day-in and day-out my eyes were accosted by women (young and old) dressing as if their only option in life was to make their own clothing from beginning sewing patterns being sold at an Indiana Jones meets Easy Spirit craft fair… put on by the receptionist from your dental office in 1986.
I regret to inform you, gentle reader, that if I can’t hold on to my misguided expectations that Tokyo’s ladies are well dressed, neither can you. RIP Tokyo misconceptions.
I would post a photo of this travesty, but it would appear that my phone purged itself in an attempt to pretend like this isn’t happening in 2019. And while there are some photos of this phenomenon on the internet, the articles make this combination of hosiery, sensible athletic shoes with superior arch support, and exceedingly baggy skirting look WAY cooler than it actually is.
Have a picture of my son and some beautiful cats living their best lives at Lazy Cat Harem (I mean, Cat Cafe, Harajuku) to make up for it. #priday
At some point during my trip, I thought about sharing this and other life changing secrets with you, but then I couldn’t because I was hypnotized by the weirdest Eva Air in flight safety video (now with MOAR interpretive dance) and then promptly got thrown back in the gulag.
Until today. I’m free. For like a week.
So, let’s celebrate by going to the bookstore!
And by blogging indiscriminately because you have time!!
And by going commando!!! (Oh wait, I’ve been doing that all week… never mind!)
But mostly, by blogging indiscriminately.
Missed you bunches.
—K
