Love Links Necklace
Top: So, Kohl's
Camisole: So, Kohl's
Skirt: Material Girl, Macy's
Shoes: Bucco, Kohl's
Bag: Nine West, Boscov's
Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's
Swirl Girl Necklace
Tee: Merona, Target
Skirt: Ellen Tracy, JCPenney
Shoes: Penny Loves Kenny, DSW
Bag: Princess Vera, Kohl's
Sunglasses: The Tote Trove
Belt: Wet Seal
Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's
Skirt: Kohl's
Shoes: Journeys
Bag: Xhilaration, Target
Sunglasses: Brigantine beach shop
Belt: Wet Seal
Sometimes, when I'm packaging orders, I feel like Mr. Bean (Rowan Atkinson) from that scene in Love, Actually. You know. The one where boss-man Harry (Alan Rickman) is buying a gold necklace for his secretary-slash-mistress and Mr. Bean is taking forever and a day wrapping it, placing it first in a box and then in a clear plastic bag, which he fussily fills with dried roses, some other dried flora that comes out of its very own drawer, and (because it is the holidays) a cinnamon stick. He's donning rubber gloves, brandishing holly, and fixing to shove it all into a big, conspicuous Christmas box when Harry puts a stop to the madness, his wife looming dangerously in the background. Not that there's anything dramatic about me swathing stuff in acres of bright tulle and tissue. But like Mr. Bean (or, as he is [as nearly] ridiculously named in this role, Rufus) I do tend to get carried away, especially without a skittish, adulterous Brit to cry uncle. I love packaging every order just so, making it pop with ribbons and drawings -- and surprises. Like a birthday present. Or, at the very least, a really good catch from a pediatrician's prize box. It's what separates my little enterprise, and those of all Etsians, from Amazon. Well, that and enough glue to double-coat Alaska.
Not that I'm knocking Amazon. That would be pretty thoughtless, seeing as how it's Tammy (the Torso's) homeland. Also, I just ordered four paperbacks from there, one of which is already becoming fast friends with a unicorn bookmark. Ordering books from Amazon kind of reminds me of grade school book orders. I used to love pouring over the vaguely colorful newsprint pamphlets from Weekly Reader and Scholastic, eyeing up the exciting new titles and special extras like rainbow-print pencils and "Saved by the Bell" posters. I'd feverishly add and subtract items on my Texas Instruments calculator until I had spent my allowance on just the right mix of fun and intellectually stimulating. Once I even enrolled in some sort of summer club, although that turned out to be a disappointment beyond the googly-eyed puffball "Reading is Believing!" critter that lured me in. Not exactly what you'd call dish washing money well spent. Anyway, Amazon's a lot like Weekly Reader, only the "special extras" run the gamut from watermelon Oreos to electric band saws. (Although I've never purchased power tools, I can't say the same about the Oreos.) Like most people, I depend on this most popular of online retailers for hard-to-find essentials like scarf hangers, flower boxes, cherry pitters, and (but of course) glue. Yet despite its virtual general store status, it's Amazon's exhaustive collection of books that most spellbinds me. It's nearly ruined me for big box brick and mortar stores, where it's not unusual to comb the aisles only to emerge without the elusive, still-as-of-yet-unread-by-you titles from your favorite authors.
Plus, those stores never have enough unicorn merch. Or glossies of good old Mr. Belding.
1 comment:
love the ensembles as always Tote, and yes, seen Love Actually so know the scene you're talking about, it annoys me.
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