Yesterday morning, I was scuttling around in Austin's morning drizzle in an effort to find just the right flowers for a few friends. I didn't even make it as far as the checkout lines when I saw a gorgeous image perfectly in line with my eyes:
I usually pride myself in my achievements of pulling my hands away from enticing fashion magazines, but this time I couldn't stop myself.
Unfortunately, I've always been the type of person to judge a book by its cover--according to this cover, the entire issue would be incredible, don't you think?
In addition to my small problem of convincing myself that anything with pages will be entertaining based on its exterior, I also tend to flip quickly around, staring only at images and forgetting about the words.
We'll see if the stories are up to par with the insane imagery.
Meanwhile, the flower arranging went well--meaning I managed to get three skinny bouquets out of the lot that didn't look completely ridiculous. Somewhat selfishly, one of the main reasons I love giving flowers to friends and acquaintances is the surprised reaction. It's like I'm lurking behind the shadows, waiting to jump out with both arms roving when somebody receives their fragrant petals and sleek leaves.
I was puffed with pride at the store when I decided not to buy flowers for our little apartment, but here I am with the gift of Vogue posing on my desk. Oops.
Did you get the issue yet? Is it as good as it looks?