| Travel |
Obviously, (between Bangkok and I) I wear the pants in this relationship. If you'd leave me to describe the the city of perfected Yum Mamas and Kenya Moore "Gone With The Wind Fabulous" Siam store fronts, we have nothing but irreconcilable similarities. Unlike most of my fellow homebabes, I have with myself no formal training cruising the Sois, and so, I literally ran around exactly like how I gastronomically and economically de-flowered myself at Whole Foods last Winter.
I now present you to what my boyfriend calls the "most atrocious pairing of all time" - covering up in a heated petite taxi. Even when my entire being was thirsting profusely in the tuk-tuk, I regret nothing. Call it ego, but I'm always up for sartorial presentation and a closet believer that women should always wear tailor-made blazers with zilch innerwear. Call it smexy, mysterious... I call it a steamy good time. Surely, I'm one to have perspective. On route to our breakfast location which also - let me guess what you're thinking - "wait what? she wears a suit in the morning to breakfast?!" To which, I can tell you that it's merely my interpretation for post pyjamas party because its so darn comfortable. Even when Jan-Pattamon Techanarong, the pro of Japanese linen and Egyptian cotton, does formal in uniform style, she's out to make me look like a new French general She-ro in Napoleon time (and a power woman in front row Chanel who enjoys a good slumber party in real time).
It seems that 50 Baht is more than enough time for your tuk-tuk driver to hit on the fish sauce vendors while I kick back, stay suited, lather and glue my coconut smelling hair to the faux croc leather skin for 15 minutes in sweltering heat conditioning. As I lazily parade diagonally in the back seat as if I just awoke from a cat nap, troops of buses carrying the locals plopped in their seats peered out to my particularly notorious tuk-tuk. The buses marched while commuters took comfort in the seedy traffic to google their gaze in entertainment. Back in my seat with a clouded heatwave halfway through 12 minutes, sweaty elbows caressing each other and honest behaviours of an escaped parakeet, not even an iPhone hymn echoed from the tidy crowd, which left me wondering if my 15-minute localised phenomenon had projected into a memory of amusement or laughable? If that wasn't my victory, I don't know what is.
At the breakfast table, I faced the consequence of a smexy try-hard in my amplified shoulders sans stocky frame. Mid shooting in thicky curtained shadows, alas, the temptations of sunny-side ups caused myself to be ambiguously immoral. It was post-breakfast act in the taxi that I found half my chest missing a pasty. Here's a theory: With an 80% chance of five chesty checks per ten burst shots, I'm sure I worriedly left an intimate souvenir at On Lok Yun. Forgive me. If found,
Featuring Commit A Sin Full Suit, Nastygal Dress, BaubleBar Rings
Shots by Ronald W.