Oh, the cruel irony.
R and I decided to take a break from revision/dissertations on Sunday and go on a wee ice cream date. There is an actual (well, as actual as possible in Britain) gelateria we have been meaning to try fo' eva. It is a bit of a trek, 35 mins each way, but the sun was shining and we were feeling kerazy. I was particularly satisfied that I could wear my new ice cream coloured trousers to go and have ice cream in. They were an impulse budget purchase in Bologna from a chain store I've never heard of and the colour is spring-tastic and much more flattering on me than the Isabel Marant-esque pink pastel version that they were also selling. As far as ice cream goes I would compare them to a plastic-y mint chocolate chip. Very jolly.
Anyway. Problem the first - the finishing on the troos isn't very good and it turns out that the inside seams rub when you try and walk any real distance, they also don't stay up very well because they are quite low cut. Problem the second - the gelateria was closed! No warning or nuffin. Grumpily we stropped into a local supermarket and bought some boring supermarket ice cream instead.
And then... I dropped boring supermarket chocolate ice cream on my ice cream trousers! The ice cream adventure went wrong in pretty much every possible way. And I have the added bonus of feeling about five again. I had forgotten the dangers of a) pale clothes and b) chocolate ice cream and c) the combination of the two. Better hope it comes out in the wash...
(I am busting a pretty sweet move, ey?)
((I am also impressed by the way that I am wearing almost straight ebay))