I Am A Picnic

(ABOVE: Picnicky on Picnic Day)

I wore this dress to work the other day. It's periwinkle with peach flowers. It looks tremendously bad on me- I'm not kidding. It's an extremely unflattering dress. That's why I'm only putting up a picture of my face and shoulders, because I am in control of my own image and I don't want to look dumpy on my own blog.  But I like to wear light colors this time of year, to cheer myself and the world up. 

My co-worker came into the kitchen and told me I look like a something summer day. I forget what adjective he used. Maybe "brilliant"? I'm like 70% sure it was brilliant. I'm a little bit sorry to be so braggy, but he's a flatterer, this co-worker of mine. 

"I feel like an Australian housewife," I said, because I did. I always feel like an Australian housewife in that dress. A frumpy Australian housewife with sinewy limbs and leather skin. She'd be chill, though, the Australian housewife I sometimes am. 

"That too," said my co-worker. It's truly undeniable. But there's only so much one can say about their co-worker looking like an Australian housewife, so he went back to the summer day thing, and told me I reminded him of a picnic. I was in a terrible mood, so I appreciated that. "A chill picnic," I said, which I guess is a little redundant. There's not too many aggro picnics, I don't think, but there's definitely ostentatious rich people picnics, which are aggro to me. A picnic is the last place where a rich person should be flaunting their wealth around. Rich people should go eat in restaurants at hotels. Leave the fields for the rest of us. 

I made a point about how I wouldn't be a rich people picnic, and I listed off some names of foods that wouldn't be available at the picnic that I am, such as "like, brie." And "like, oysters."In addition to not wanting to be an ostentatious rich people picnic, I even LESS want to be a HEALTHY picnic. Kale and quinoa are fine for a weekday evening, but a picnic deserves better. My co-worker saw my point. He said that there would be fried chicken at my picnic, the Me Picnic, and I said "YES." A yes both capitalized and italicized; a loud, strong YES. He said "homemade fried chicken," and I said "fried chicken eaten off a paper napkin." 

So, I've decided that that's what I'm going to be from now on. That's the experience I want to give to the world. Talking to me will from now on be the talking to a person equivalent of attending a chill picnic where the main course is homemade fried chicken eaten off of a paper napkin. 

I like self-identifying as this kooky idea because, you know, picnics are a little whimsical, a little cutesy, but the fried chicken grosses it up. It's dirty and nasty. It's actually good, not just the idea of good. It would look blah on Instagram. It's REAL.

PS: There would also be pink champagne at my picnic.

Signed,
Laura Jane