I am known to shop at Forever 21.
There, I said it.
I know. I’m not 21. I’m 21 + 11.
When we were in the States in July I picked up this shirt thinking that it would be good for work. (I work in Cabo. The “dress code” is a bit lax, here. Open-toed shoes, jeans, ugly floral tops… all acceptable.)
This shirt is killing me.
I hate that I bought it.
I hate that I have it on.
I hate it.
Does it not look like a fancy (debatable, I know) take on nurses’ scrubs?
I’m barely willing to admit that I’m wearing this.
(Ignore my hair. It’s 95 and humid here.)
Today, I’m clearly no fashion plate.