This morning my commute was different from usual because I brought along my little red suitcase. It is coming to the Côte d'Azul with me later today. However, this morning's commute was also different because the train was bursting at the seams with other people who also had their suitcases with them. Is everybody in Rheinland-Pfalz traveling today? Is this an organized event? Should I have gotten a flyer in my wee little mailbox? I certainly get enough spam flyers for other stuff in there. Although actually I did recently get spammed flyer-ed by Nescafé, and it came with a free sample of instant coffee. Sha-wing!
Anyway, as I was standing in the middle of a bunch of other standing up commuters all straddling our suitcases, wishing that the windows on the doors weren't at boob level so that we might be lucky enough to see something other than train track rocks and grass as we whizzed down the track, I noticed the gentleman next to me (and by next to me I mean rightthere) was wearing a really great, chocolate brown tie. I am a serial tie-noticer. I can't help it, and I deeply appreciate a great tie on a man. You boys look so good in them, afterall. So, his tie with diagonal raised lines of the same color was paired with a close-to-the-same-color brown, pinstriped jacket and a no-pattern, plain brown pair of dress pants which were also not quite the same color as the aforementioned menswear pieces.
I stood there contemplating such deep things such as whether or not I liked his ensemble. On the one hand, I dig brown. It's a complementing color for just about anyone. On the other hand, none of the pieces exactly matched color-wise and certainly not pattern-wise, though all the patterns were subtle enough to maybe not be noticed at first. But then again, people are allowed to wear flannel and be fashionable, so I guess that means anything goes.
But does anything go? He was also wearing black shoes. I say cool. Black and brown paired together look like coffee to me, and coffee is pleasing. And just as I had decided that he could wear his coffee ensemble with my stamp of approval, the train rocked just enough to knock everyone a little off balance and sent a lady straight into the coffee-suit man's arm. And cradled by the hand on that arm was, in fact, a cup of coffee, which went splish-splashing straight into the coffee-suit man's coffee suit lapel. Were the fashion gods trying to tell me that my approval of his unmatching pattern, color, and shoe choice is wrong?
Probably. After all, I adored wearing my huge tee shirts from swim meets more than any other clothes I owned throughout my entire childhood.
^^yup, that post just happened. thats what you get when im headed to france soon but my brain is already there.
you gutted me. i've never been the same
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