Oh Dear

I am 44 years old. Middle aged I suppose, but that is a term I am not fond up (despite its chronological accuracy).  I like to think of myself as fairly hip.  I have a cool job.  I have cool friends.  I never had kids.  I listen to loud music and dance around.  In the privacy of my own home and/or car I am one hell of a back up singer.  I eat healthy food and exercise regularly.  My outfits fluctuate madly from the garb typically found on a 15 year old boy of questionable intelligence to the skyscraper stiletto of Hollywood’s finest whores.  All depends on my mood, as often does my hair colour.

The other day I was in an excellent second hand clothing store on La Brea called Rag Tag.  I bought some old jeans which are enormous and supposed to be and I found this rocking Boy Scout shirt which pleased me to no end.

Today I wore it for the first time over a long sleeved white T-Shirt paired with slim jeans and Beatle boots.  I felt happy and funky and fun.

My travels took me to downtown Pasadena, a wealthy urban enclave and home to the Norton Simon museum.  I popped in to a very good tea store that I discovered some time ago to buy some loose leaf.  The staff were charming and helpful and as the 20 something hipster Asian boy was ringing me up he looked me up and down and asked in a sunny tone “So, are you a den mother or something?”

I may have to burn the shirt.

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