Wut happens when ya dress in yer oldest most drab clothes?
Last week, ma boss rang me on ma cel to tell me to go to work on a Saturday to revise tha copy I've been workin' on. To mourn his decision and to make him feel tha inconvenience he’ve caus’d me by makin him think I left in house clothes, I dress’d in a loose black old shirt, ancient denims, and ma oldest loafers a.k.a. tha flood shoes –ma choice of footwear whenever I hafta go thru mud puddles, semi-floods & other icky unrefined places. Tha original plan of goin to Greenhills wit maver and tha fact that we cud stil go right after work completely escaped ma mind as I focused on putting together ma I-shuden-be-workin attire. So that later when we got to GH, we came across 5 people I knew from school whom I haven't seen for ages - 4 of whom look'd me up & down critically, 2 of whom are ultimate fashion slaves, and 1 of whom used to look up at me fo’ ma so-call'd fashion sense.