On a totally different subject, my desires for spats and rompers have been realized!

These shoes here were the light of my small, pitiful, sea urchin in a tunnel of filth sort of fashion perspective.  They shone gloriously until last night, when I stomped too hard on the porch steps and accidentally ripped the spat from the sole.

Alas!  Alack I say!  Hopefully it can be repaired.

In other news, I have been searching for a romper that will fit my fat ass and not make me look like a slutty toddler.  This was actually realized (perhaps not the latter) in a moment of retail therapy with Urban Outfitters.

I am well aware that a romper is an ephemeral trendoid that I will probably look back upon in a decade with the same shock and shame best used for hot pink spandex armlets or that eerie period when I was refashioning t-shirts into clubwear with liberal sequin appliques.

Whatever, all this aside, I love my romper!  I am not ashamed!  I am 33 and (obvs) don't look as good in it as the model in the picture, but whatever.  It's comfy, it's stretchy, it's black and ruffly, it fits my ample trunk junk and makes me want to do cartwheels in dewy grass.

too bad it's November.