I’ve decided to combat insecurities that come from eventually aging, I’m just going to steadily become more and more glamorous.
Like, I’m going to get a necklace, and I’m going to add a diamond for every wrinkle I get.
And one day I’ll be 93 (how old my grandma was) and I’ll be dressed in silks, and a man in his twenties will be shirtless and feeding me grapes. Because I’m sexy, not cause I’m old.
For the past while I’ve been haunted by an incredibly fancy old lady who must live nearby. TJ and I will be walking around and I’ll go, “Look it’s her!” but by the time I’ve got his attention she’ll have turned the corner or be too far away. So now we like to joke that she’s just a figment of my imagination. Better yet, I like to think she’s maybe me from the future, or some sort of cosmic guide who watches over us.
Seriously though, this lady is at least in her 70s and the first time I saw her she was wearing bright magenta jeggings and high heels, just walking across the bridge like she owned it. I should try and draw some of this woman’s outfits so you know what I’m talking about.