That lovely gal in the sunglasses is Desiree, one of my dearest and oldest friends and my once-upon-a-time fellow clothes swapper/co-conspirator. When we were very young, by which I mean too young to afford our own proper wardrobe, but not too young to dream up something grand, Desiree's dad would attend to our bi-weekly clothes swap: every few weeks, he would drop off a bag of Desiree's clothing, stashing it behind the over-sized terracotta pot near the door of my house, while picking up a bag of my closet-wares for Desiree. This cyclical borrowing continued for years.
While no longer a co-conspirator in that sense, Desiree still continues to incite. She and her two sisters run a vintage clothing shop at the Pasadena Rosebowl Flea Market. I cannot, absolutely CANNOT, wait for them to open up an Etsy shop. I will let you know when they do.
The gal with the street urchin locks is me. I cannot be bothered to get a haircut (or to continue packing my suitcase or . . .), but I can spend time peering idly at woven things and boy blazers with flat wooden buttons and eating fresh-picked fruit, for hours apparently. I'm glad my priorities are in order.
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