The shoe count and other very profound stuff

Tuesday

I'm still in my sleep shirt at seven pm but I had a stunningly productive day - is that a lived antithesis? I made use of my LinkedIn account for the very first time (no one ever looks at my profile and I can't blame them since I have no job experience whatsoever and there was, surprisingly, no place to show off my interviews with fashion people or my personal-life-commenting blogposts) and sent friend requests (I know that's not what they're called but it feels the same) to more fashion people I need an interview with and whose email-addresses I can't find 'cause, again to my utter surprise, not everyone cares to display their contact data on the internet for a bunch of journalism students with complicated questions to spam.

Thursday 
 
I have come up with an innovative new value system, economically-wise. Someone should name a buliding after me, or a public playground at least. It's the shoe count. Everytime someone brings up a big amount of money that is to be spent on something really boring or unnecessary, like a 60 dollar trade magazine, or 2000 dollar glass frames, or the ridiculous numbers school fees jump to, I can't help myself but wonder "How many shoes could you buy with that kind of money?". It really gives you some perspective. And usually makes me really sad – I mean it's not like my parents would have just cashed me out what they spend on college in case I hadn't gone and I'd been left free to buy all there is to walk beautifully in. But still. Monthly Manolos. It's such a shame.

Half an hour until I get home. When everyone was waiting on the platform for people to get off the train so we could go on it, as you do, that one woman just walked right through the two rows of people on each side of the door and stepped on, saying incredulously to the train guy who called her out for it "I thought everyone was out", as if in that case, no unstoppable mob with everyone pushing anyone out of their way and onto the tracks would have formed but everyone would have simply created a miraclous part in the crowd for her to walk through like a flipping Moses-reincarnation. Dream on, good woman. It won't happen.

What did happen was that I found myself in class the other day listening to the pros and cons of that rubber ring you can use instead of going on the pill. Okay, technically class was over but the teacher was still there and it got full on graphic – one girl totally freaked out at the sheer idea of that ring, even though, as a friend cleverly pointed out, she has no problem with other things made out of rubber touching her inner organs. But I think she thought that it was going to, like, explode in her uterus (the ring, not the other thing. That would be pretty alarming). I'm sure that's not how it's supposed to work, 'cause no one likes explosions in there.

Well, no real ones with fire and stuff, anyways.

Love,

Rosy Smith