notes from the honeymoon
My grandmother wore these pants on her honeymoon in Hawaii.
As it is now my honeymoon, and they are now my pants, I’m absolutely wearing them all over the place. It’s actually an entire, breathtaking pantsuit, and I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you can do to stop me.
Bill just can’t take his eyes off me. He can’t stop taking pictures of me. Sometimes he looks at me like he wants to speak, but then is overcome with emotion. Tell me: could it be…love? Or a gentleman’s baser reaction to many, many primary colors at once?
It’s a honeymoon–and what happiness if not the blinding, insensible, uncoordinated and unrelenting kind?
Spot on, pants. May your legacy outlive us both.