Picture the scene: A young girl (woman?) wanders the cold streets of Lincoln whilst her mother is having her hair cut. Taking shelter in River Island her eyes lock on a skirt hanging just out of her reach. She lunges towards it and caresses it softly with her cold hands. "No," she says firmly to herself, and turning to continue perusing the other items in the shop. This was supposed to be a fun exercise in window shopping, she musn't let herself be drawn in to anything serious.
But alas, as she leaves the shop she is stopped in her tracks once more by the skirt. The skirt, is the word, "skirt" enough to describe such a garment? It is leather, yes, it is a leather mini skirt. It is a leather mini skirt and it is pink. Baby pink.
"Take me to the fitting rooms" the skirt whispers, as she presses the fabric to her face, a tear trickling down her cheek and rolling off the leather of the skirt (water proof bonus, nobody likes a wet ass). Powerless to it's command she dutifully obliges and within minutes they are one, Girl and skirt. Complete. In love.
Totes gonna be back next week to buy that #payday
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