So, I thought today would be a good day for segunda style. For my newer readers, 'Segunda' is just 'thrift store' except growing up we didn't call them thrift stores, we called them (all my cousins and family say it with me) 'Segundas'. So now you're all educated and maybe even a little closer to becoming Mexican...I don't know if that's true, but I'm willing to let you in the club.
I'm particularly fond of this outfit, it is all (w/ the exception of undergarments) segunda. Head to toe, about $15. What do you think of my lady tie? I was trying to channel a little Dian Keaton, but I think I may have missed a little and hit troop Beverly Hills.
I use to be a girl scout though, so I guess I can't help but exude troopiness. But seriously, loving my lady tie. I saw it at my last segunda venture sitting lonely and untouched on the rack. I circled it like a hawk and before anyone else could even notice it, it was safely sitting in my basket. I'm a lady tie rescuer. That's really all there is to it.
The blouse was a school uniform shirt, I cut the sleeves off making it more seasonal.
The skirt went to about my calves, and I cut that too. Originally I was going to hem it, but I was too eager to wear it, and then I realized, I kinda like the juxtaposition of an unfinished skirt with a nice blouse.
and there it is..my Segunda Style. Thinking you might want a lady tie of your own? Well you can't have mine, but I do know a lovely Mobile Boutique that happens to be selling some. That's right, if you're in the Sacramento area, check out my sister's truck Gypsy, she's got the goods.
I don't always feel lovely, I have those moments when I look in the mirror and say or think things that are just rotten. If the enemy attacks, then he seems to linger in my mirror. Isn't that silly? Isn't it crazy how we are clearly all uniquely and beautifully made, yet still some of us want to argue this point internally. God, standing right there watching us, asking "Is this going to take long because I've got things I need you to do" Silly.
“What sorrow awaits those who argue with their Creator. Does a clay pot argue with its maker? Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying ‘Stop, you’re doing it wrong!’ Does the pot exclaim ‘How clumsy can you be? How terrible it would be if a newborn baby said to its father, ‘Why was I born?’ or if it said to its mother, ‘Why did you make me this way?’"