Leaving the house today, bag stuffed to the brim with gym clothes, runners, water bottle, wallet, camera, and ipod, I thought I would be safe enough from boredom to leave out a book. Planning simply on hitting up the gym for a bit then mosey-ing directly over to my fitting, I thought I'd be 'busy' the whole time I was out of the apartment (and my ipod of course would be ample company for the public transit commute). But oh, what a fool I was.
Because 'fitting' does not apparently mean work. What it means is: wait for one hour, squeeze into an impossibly small pair of jeans which you won't end up wearing anyways because the outfit they're paired with is deemed too 'triste,' try on another outfit, wait, try on another outfit, wait, then wait some more only to be dismissed, two hours after arrival time. How, may you ask, did I occupy myself during that first hour of pure uninterrupted boredom? The ipod was out of the question (instore music was beng played much too loud to hear own music via headphones without fear of permanent ear damage), thus the task was left to the mirrored shop ceiling and camera:
indeed.
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