Sitting in my little glass box, I can vaguely see that the sunshine is glorious. I'm talking heavenly standards. It was certainly toastily warm when I drove my little car to work this morning, and it was certainly toasty as I walked from the car park to the door, so I'm guessing it's still toasty...but I can't feel it. Damn air conditioning. The one day of summer Britain might actually get, and I'm inside. At least I'm getting paid for every hour I'm not allowed to be outside...
I'm the type of gal whose motto works out to be something like, "God bless the great *indoors*".
I don't tan very well, and I become quite fidgety in direct heat. I'd much prefer to be in the pool getting a tan, or getting a tan whilst being fanned by toned men in trunks. Either or. Since I departed the Middle East forever, my tan has faded into nothing but a mere memory. I keep stumbling across photos of a bronzed girl with long flowing blonde hair and then catching a glimpse of the remains in the mirror. Pale, short brown hair..Where did it all go wrong? I realise that my hair isn't going to be blonde anymore because there is no direct sunlight hitting my locks, and I realise that I can't spend all of my time worshipping fake tan. But still - it seems like a hefty fall from a pretty nice position.
If you were wondering what this has to do with the boutique, it has nothing to do with the boutique. Nobody in their right mind would brave the sweltering heat to come into a shop and put on an expensive gown. It's just logic. I knew it would be like this, so I'm not too concerned. It gives me a chance to kick back and write a lot. Occasionally I turn up the radio and sing along.
Actually, we have had people in the shop, but they were two pre-pubescent girls who giggled a lot and sang along with the radio, fingered every dress and then vanished, off to giggle at other things.
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