Pre-trip Delays, Shopping, etc.

It’s day two in Italy, and the people are gorgeous, the food delicious, the views stunning—except, no. I’m not in Italy, I’m still in New York. It’s ten below zero Celsius. The view is snowy and dark. It so happens that my flight to Heathrow was cancelled because London is buried under 10 inches of snow—that’s the same grey, rainy London that generally gets four days of snow per annum, and usually not more than 2-3 inches at a time. Then things managed to get even stranger, with the rare condition of Spontaneous Giant Self-Rolling Snowballs appearing out of the blue. What!? That’s what I said too.

Although I may end up missing several days of orientation, I am grateful for the extra days to pack and sort myself out.

I'm going to turn this into something BEAUTIFUL AND ORGANISED.

While I packed, Ashley curled up with a good book.

I went last-minute shopping today for little bottles to put all my hair products into, and also for *boots.* Now, don’t mark me out as one of those shoe-obsessive girls who blows whole pay-checks on a pair of Jimmy Choos, but I do love looking at nicely cut European-style shoes. What I discovered when I went to Aldo was that even Italian imported shoe stores REFUSE TO CARRY SIZE TENS. Look shop-lady, I know you wanted to sell me those cute boots you were wearing, but you don’t understand. I am a 10. Double-digits. That’s 42 in Italian. Aren’t Italian women supposed to be gigantically tall, anyway? Surely they’re not all wearing size 7 heels…? I walked out disappointed, but not without some pictures of shoes that I would never wear but would be gorgeous on the right pair of feet.

Five inches of neon-plum skyscraper fabulosity.

Gorgeous creamy, snowy, buttery leather done up with buckles.

It’s a party day when your shoes look like this.

Later on, at Lauren’s house, we made monster s’mores and reminisced about the days of Pokémon and Neopets. The group also subjected me to my first-ever viewing of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” It seems an odd movie to start watching at 20—like you should start earlier to desensitise yourself to how weird it is. I suppose cross-dressing aliens will do that to you. I’m still struggling to understand what it was…although I don’t think I really want to know.

I leave you to contemplate.