Bundy-style.

After hours of baking in the sun (sorry, epidermis!), I've finally obtained a decent tan, which also means that my hair has had enough time to bleach itself to a light blonde that is one shade away from mega-slutty... This is the look that I wait ten months of every year to obtain. It is a look that takes ten pounds off of my tiny frame, all while I hammer down brisket and ice cream like it's going out of style. It is a temporary facade that shocks me a little, I hardly recognize myself when I catch my reflection in the window (where did my pale, sallow face go?).
A wonderful tan is not obtainable without some serious effort. After hours and hours on the lawn in a (probably too) tiny bathing suit, reading magazines, drinking diet sodas, laying on a towel on the ground (the ground!), and being mindful of tan lines, I deserve to look a little bronze! I earned that shit.
It means that wearing tights with my jean cutoffs becomes elective instead of necessary, I don't have to cake on the makeup with the same gusto, and, for the next couple of months, there's nothing wrong with using Kelly Bundy as a style icon. Bring on the crop tops and tube skirts. Summer's here.






~sarah p.

p.s. Guess who used to have a thing for Bud Bundy? Leave it up to me to have the lamest childhood crush in history.
p.p.s. Where does a gal get a cross necklace nowadays? Somewhere without the, you know, relentless preachiness that often comes with said purchase?