Dearest Daughters,
Posting old content while we're away.
Wrote this shortly after my birthday during my senior year of college. I guess I was just feeling very wise. Being twenty two and all.
The other morning on my way to brunch over at another dorm across the Quad, I stumbled at the prickling sensation of a very sharp object in my slippers (they have a hard sole for going outside-ish; I'm not like those gross girls who wear fuzzy bunny slippers into the dining hall, ewww, far from it). Half awake, still wearing my pajamas and with eye boogers still clinging to the corners of my eyes, I called every so eloquently to Katherine: "Ack! STOP!" Perched on my left leg, I shook out my right L.L. Bean slipper. What fell out was a photo of myself. It was a tiny photo booth picture (1.5 cm x 2 cm) that I took because the monthly Metro passes in Paris required it. Banal as this story may seem, it's really not. Indeed, we often discover something in our shoes that just rubs us the wrong way. We shake it out and then we're on our way. But, how often do you find that the something in your shoe was, in fact, you, yourself. And when you are the one irritating your own big toe, how do you just walk away from that? I mean, really?
For lack of a better word, I am interesting.
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