I may have run out of ways to describe this @#$%^& butterfly sleeve without resorting to “#$%^&* butterfly sleeve”, and I think my brain has stopped caring, while the rest of me refuses to leave this desk, until I’m done with all 34 dresses.
17 notes later and all you want to do is write about how someone’s Tito Jun-Jun finally embraced his “softer side” by coming out of the closet in Tita Baby’s baro’t saya. The skirt was too short, downplaying whatever drama the serpentine train was supposed to create, and the butterfly sleeves made awkward scratching noises against his beard, especially when he’d turn his head from side-to-side, the demurest of gestures, as he made the rounds, greeting the droves of stunned guests who had come for the free baked macaroni and juice bar. This was also at Tita Baby’s wake.
But nope, I have to describe the details. Only the details!
Also, this office is out of coffee.
One thought on “After writing catalogue notes for 17 dresses”
Our office has unlimited supply of Kopiko brown sugar coffee.
Reminds me of the time I wrote about hotels–all sorts–obscure inns, roadside motels, backpacker hostels, et cetera. How many ways can you say it’s near the airport, it’s at the hub of activity, it’s your home away from home, it’s a stone’s throw away from the subway. Stone’s throw away, isang milyong STONE’S THROW AWAYYYY geezuzzz eh kung ibato ko yung laptop ko sayo. (Not you, of course. Unless, you, DWH client, are reading this.)