This was before I ever started to text. I now have been a texter for a few months, and while I don’t love it even a quarter as much as everyone else seems to … I see its benefits. In fact, in at least one instance, I downright adore it.
And that instance is when I’m shopping.
I had the day off work on Wednesday, and I took myself shopping to see if I couldn’t find a dress for a wedding rehearsal I’m in later this month.
Now … I’m a girl. When I try on clothes, I like to ask someone, “What do you think of this?”
Well, about 96 percent of my girl friends live in not-Indiana, so that makes it very difficult for that second opinion. So I can’t tell you how cool it is to text a friend a pic of me in a blue dress I heart and ask for another opinion.
(If you have an H&M around you, I can’t stress how badly you need to GO THERE RIGHT NOW. All the store’s clearance items are half-off the reduced price — which means in addition to the above [full-price and totally worth it] dress, I got a $5 purse [which accidentally matches the dress perfectly] and a $2.50 sparkly tee.)
But yeah … texting is alright.
Now … to pair that dress with an understated necklace and fuchsia tights? Or gray tights and this green mini bubble necklace I just bought?
Note: I was mulling over this post as I drove myself to Wendy’s for lunch yesterday, and I remembered why I hate texting: As I pulled up to a red light on MAIN STREET (read: the MAIN street downtown), a man with a bad haircut, glasses and striped sweater crossed the street … while texting. He looked up a single time as he crossed the MAIN street in town. So let me rephrase: I don’t hate texting. I hate dumbass texters who all but beg to be run over like a raccoon.