ANTICLIMAX.

You know how sometimes there is one coat that you really trully can't live without and a pair of shoes without which your feet are sad and your outfits are incomplete and then there are also some studded denim cut offs that you don't want, you need but even they would feel lonely without that perfect necklace that was really made just for you. Now, this doesn't happen very often if you live in London and are earning little but sometimes, call it fate, call it a miracle or just call it Christmas and be realistic, all these things might land in your very own wardrobe. With the giddiness of a school girl (why are school girls supposed to be giddy, I don't get it? when I was a schoolgirl, I was mostly tired and grumpy and confused by algebra) you chuck them all on, together, feeling like your life is complete.

All of a sudden, what used to be a 5'6 harmless person transforms into a fearless giant (those Litas are taller than they look) armed with a camel toe, camels would envy and an arse spikier than the most dangerous of sea urchin.

So you wear this outfit and you're feeling pretty good. And then you wear it again, and again, and again and then one day you realise...

That, actually, you look like a prostitute.

(yeah, this is my prostitute face...) 

Anticlimax.

JUMP

picture was taken after my anticlimactic realisation which probably explained the pained expression on my face.