I was having a gobsmackingly bad day today at work. I went for a walk down the main drag to chill-out and ran into Rick coming back from the grocery store. I don’t actually work with Rick, but we run into each other often enough in the agency kitchen, that we’ve struck up a casual acquaintance. He’s calmly cheerful all the time. Must be the vegeterian intake and the pony tail.
“How’s it going?” Rick called out.
“Well at least it’s a beautiful day,” he called out as he passed. And indeed it was.
Later that afternoon, when things had turned from terrible to disastrous, I ran into Rick in the kitchen, each of us having come into top up our individual teapots (his Japanese cast iron, mine yixing).
“Are you have a better day?” he asked.
“No,” I shook my head ruefully.
“Well, may your day end up being as beautiful as your shirt.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Maybe I should have worn an ugly shirt instead, so I could have had a beautiful day.”
I was wearing a shirt in this print.
As my other colleague remarked, “Isn’t it something you see more for cushion covers and baby carriers (that tie onto one’s back like a backpack)?”