Frick.

Alors, Rach has been and gone (awesomeness all weekend long - probably more on this later).

My birthday was good. I tried to get the lovely Anner drunk and only succeeded in getting wasted myself.

Went climbing around some waterfalls and did so without getting even a tiny bit wet. That takes skill, yo.

Today I dropped Rach off at the station and went bra shopping, which in itself is a mammoth task. I don't like shopping outside of Asda (UK equivalent of WalMart) or Sainsbury's because seeing clothes that I'd have to work for two days straight to afford just pisses me the fuck off. See? Like that.

Anyhoodle it was waaaaaarm today so I was wearing only the bare essentials, and after about two hours in town I looked in a window - Note: not the clearest reflection either and I still saw it - to see that, Oh, Fabulous, my top was see-through, like, all the way through.

And I had to get home. Through town. With lots of people. Some of which probably knew me.

Cue loud internal FRICK followed by frantic tweeting:

And God knows, I tried to text my insignificant other to see if he thought the situation was too dire for me to carry on living, but my phone and his phone hate each other so the picture got lost somewhere in the cosmos, so now there's a picture of me wearing a see-through top floating around in infinity waiting for someone to find it and take it home.

You have to understand, to a freshly-turned seventeen year old, this shit is the height of mortal embarrassment.

I did get 30 cans of coke for £5.70 though. To a freshly-turned seventeen year old, that's the redeeming factor.