crazy chicken lady
some mornings, before jp and i head our separate ways (restauranteur-ing and school, respectively), we roll out of bed, make some aeropress, and head out on a walk with ottoman.
jonathan has always been one to get dressed almost the moment he gets out of bed (but not before he brushes his teeth). he throws on his staple jeans and t-shirt, gels his hair back and slips on the ray-bans. i, on the other hand, am a closet crazy lady.
i would, if i could, stay in my comfiest clothes all day long. my comfy clothes are usually a combo of yoga pants, flip-flops, a sweatshirt (lately it’s been jp’s since that’s all my tummy can fit in), a scarf and a headband for my unruly bed-head. there is no matching involved. if it is, it is coincidental.
man, my man must love me a lot to go out in public with me looking like this: combination hijab, jane fonda get-up, hobo and hippie. my unabashed love for my chickens certainly doesn’t help.
at least i’m not a crazy cat lady.