We Are Creatures Of Observation And We Never Forget.

There are oceans, actual oceans of stripey streaky bleach blond hair where I'm at. That and a heap of cropped pants, capris, coolats whatever the fug you want to call them I can't make 5 steps outside my door without getting a face load of it. Tarsome. Went to a discount outlet called Down East something and there were piles of marked down True Religion and American Eagle. The concept of marked down American Eagle Outfitters is something I'm still trying to wrap my brain around. Along with the cropped pants. They're like the Trilby hat of the inter-mountain west. Like driving the fashion bandwagon headlong into a blazing inferno of sartorial misadventure the hair flipping and lip pursings send me into convulsive fits of giggles. Walked through a section of what I thought were tents and jazzy tarps at the local store before I realized they had appendages and I asked my mother if we were in the big girl section. Mama said yes.

In all of this waste and torture you will never believe what I found. A set (an actual set of four) Wedgewood egg cups. Shrieks of delight doesn't fully describe my reaction. After looking for so long for the perfect set of egg cups (I would have settled for a matching pair) I was knocked sideways finding such a mother lode in a place where I quite effing naturally expected to find nothing more than a collection of microwave cuisine cookbooks and Old West themed beer cozies. And it might sound like I'm being a tarsome snob, but you try playing pole position with some Aryan throwback with tribal tattoos at an abandoned intersection and see what it does with your expectations. They can be so fragile.