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Day One Hundred and Sixty-One:  Just one of those days

One of my favourite moments in the past year was when AJ reminded me in Gard Du Nord in Paris, on our way to Frankfurt, our last fifteen minutes in France, to grab a French Vogue.  I bought it, and it is probably to this day the most expensive magazine I’ve ever purchased, but it was worth it.  Why?  Not because the French allow nudity in their public fashion magazines no, no no, because this Vogue came with a tshirt.

That seems like something so small to get excited over but not to me.  Through my travels I came home with four different Vogues from four different countries, and only one came with a tshirt.  Now, if you’re a girl like me and you eat relatively healthy and you do yoga and have erm, a larger chest, you’ll know that sometimes when you buy things that are say “one size fits all” or when you assume you buy something extremely tiny from PARIS FRANCE that it will not fit.  Things don’t usually fit me, that’s just the way my life is and that’s cool, I talk a lot about body image on here, enough about myself and how I’m happy with the way I look finally it’s all about how I feel blah blah blah and I’ll focus on the good stuff.

When we arrived in England two weeks later I had forgotten about the shirt, and so the first night I went to  get into pajamas thinking I’d wear my normal whatever was there, but in the midst of unpacking and the excitement of my first night in London England I opened this shirt from the vogue magazine thinking that it wouldn’t fit but it would be appropriate for sleeping regardless (Dev doesn’t mind if she wakes up and I’m only in underpants, right Derv?). 

I opened the package.  Slipped it over my shoulders.  And the shirt was too big.

Now, if you are a girl like me and things don’t usually fit and you’re in Paris France not thinking about those thigns but excited about the magazine then you’re not thinking about it not fitting or you’re not caring that it won’t fit.  But by golly when it does fit…

Well to say the least I cried and snuggled up with my new (clean, finally) Nido sheets, new roomie a foot beside me in her own bed, most ofmy things set up I knew I had made it.  If you read my travel blog from last semester you’ll find that I say that a lot:  I made it.  That was the first moment I felt comfortable in London.  The first day.  In a shirt I purchased with a magazine.

That now stares at me across the room, sitting on my desk, below a picture of my mom and I and a signed comicon map.  My life, my friends, may be complete at twenty-one, and I’m not planning on stopping there.  This inspiration, if you are wondering, began with a fashion tshirt.

It’s the little things, no?

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