Cardigan: Target
Top: Target
Jeans: Gap
Flats: Target
Cat: Abigail
I am still attempting (and failing) to get back on track with my eating habits, and most of my food has been the colour of either clouds or eggshells so I'm kind of sad. But on the bright side, this means I have the excuse to be 85 years old and drink as much ginger ale as I want.
The main memory I have of ginger ale is drinking it in fourth grade during a "toast" my teacher organised to celebrate receiving funding for an upcoming overnight field trip (unheard of in my school district--both overnight field trips and receiving funding for anything). I remember thinking it was gross but I drank it anyway because everyone else did, which is probably the first and only time I finished eating or drinking anything due to peer pressure. I mean, I'll taste something if the guy I like made it, but the whole bowl? No. So ginger ale, I raise my glass to you, for over time I have come to learn that I am wrong. I thank you for being gentle on my stomach and lively on my tastebuds, and for looking so damn good in a champagne flute. Here's to you, and may we need not meet under such poor conditions again.
