*un monday.

ACK! It's Monday. How the crap did that happen? Yes, it's Monday. You know how I know? Because I came off sounding like a jerk and/or an idiot in 78% of my communication today, including e-mails, phone calls ("Oh hai, Toyota. Yes, that was me that left my license tag on the car when I turned it in"), and face-to-face discourse. Also I'm missing J something fierce. Oh! And I have $90 to my name. Until Thursday.

Batting 1,000 I am not. But I shall spare you the remaining litany of Reminders Why I Am Something of a Professional Jackass and share some shots I took yesterday. Because yesterday was crisp and sunny and cloudless and ... not Monday.


Note: I don't dress this well now, and I'm allegedly a grownup.


Stella is scandalized by my sartorial mishaps.


Truly, I would wear these in my size. Considering that I was once asked "why [I] don't tip over," these may be my size.


What? It's hyperbolic license. Sheesh.


Sigh. There is nothing more adorable on this planet. You should see me with my thighs wrapped in horizontal stripes and ruffles across my bum. This is genetic cuteness, people.


She never believes a word I say.


I'll be your dancer. Dancer for tummy. Do what you want me to do.


I apologize. Was that inappropriate?


I swoonz.


Samantha hates the camera, but the light was too pretty not to risk her accusatory glare.


Handsomeness.


Sabbath confession: I covet my father's neighbor's dog.


I know! Don't tell J.


Hm. I do not trust that face. I'm totally going to be sold out. Remember, Stella, aunts are the ones who keep your secrets.