here's to you, mrs robinson

i just bought the most amazing strawberries at the grocery store. they reminded me of the ones in my backyard when i was a little girl: mishapen, small, but bright red and pungent. so pungent that their smell filled up my car with foreshadowings of summer. so pungent that they may not have survived the ride home. forgive me, they were delicious, so sweet and so cold. but no one was saving them for breakfast, so why apologize? sometimes the little things remind me that being an adult is not all bad. like not having a mom telling you you can only eat 5 strawberries, the rest being saved for some lame salad with spinach!!! or something.

so i'm doing a collage in commemoration of anne bancroft, with a particular focus on her mrs. robinson years. i went looking for a leopard print bra and underwear. what else (oh, besides maybe stockings) do you think of when you think of her? (that's not rhetorical, answer it dummy). anyway, i couldn't find the perfect leopard print. i took a pretty lame poloroid in a department store changeroom. but the colors were all washed out. and fuck it! unfortunately i ended up spending WAY too much money on lingerie for myself, which was not the purpose of the exercise. i'm not even a lingerie girl. and who will see it? i got home, left the tags on, and stuffed it in my drawer. good one. and i STILL need a picture.

i'd tell you a sad story about how the woman in front of me in the department store restaurant told the clerk she treats herself to one week a year eating there (her birthday week). and that this was the last day of that week, so she'd see her next year. and that her purchase came to $8.59. and that she said of course she couldn't afford to eat that way all year. that would be ridiculous. and that her birthday lunch was chicken wings, mashed potatoes with no gravy, and tri-colored frozen vegetables. but telling you would make me sad.

random fact ABOUT ME: i live above a chinese restaurant and invest in a steady string of crisp breeze air wicks to keep my clothes from smelling of bok choy.