So for those of you who don't remember or who managed to make it through unscathed, being able to french braid is like currency in middle school. All of the girls who could french braid got invited to all of the best sleepovers because everyone wanted them to do their hair. Coming in a close second were the girls whose moms knew how to french braid, who somehow had time to do their hair every morning before school. Then there was me...who came to school every day looking like Julie of the Wolves.
This wasn't for a lack of trying. I knew that the perfect french braided hair was the key to popularity, success, and most likely love. So I toiled in my room for hours attempting to practice on all my doll's I pretended I didn't still own. And to no avail. I couldn't figure it out, nor could my mother or my sister. I was convinced that it took a real live Rumpelstiltskin to be able to french braid.
Which is why I am proud to announce to you, 10 years late, I have been blessed with the magic fingers!! I have finally figured out the enigma that is the french braid. Due to this, I have walked around campus all week with my hair styled like a 12-year-old. You know why? Because for the first time in my life...I can.
Look at me now ladies, I bet you all want to be my friend.
I scored this shirt for 99 cents at a thrift store and it still had it's original Daytons tag on it. It has to be at least 40 years old. I adore it. And the 1950's travel case is my new favorite thing, and I think it's going to be my new sewing basket...which I desperately need. Just ask my boyfriends needle trodden feet.
I scored this shirt for 99 cents at a thrift store and it still had it's original Daytons tag on it. It has to be at least 40 years old. I adore it. And the 1950's travel case is my new favorite thing, and I think it's going to be my new sewing basket...which I desperately need. Just ask my boyfriends needle trodden feet.
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