I've just finished a VERY fun-filled day in the Nob Hill (I think) neighborhood in Portland (also called the Alphabet District, maybe?). It's a shopper's dream, stuffed to the gills with women's boutiques, shoe stores, lots of smelly/frilly gift and soap shops, and a smattering of home decor. And plenty of cafes to keep you sated between rounds of retail therapy.
About 3:30, my feet completely rebelled. They are sore and covered with blisters. Turns out that schlepping around on 3.5-inch heels is not always the best idea. But that was not before I scored a beautiful cream-colored cardigan, a black trench that hits at the hip, and a royal blue dressy top with a cowl neck and silky detailing on the back. I had fun chatting with store managers and employees, sampling the foodstuffs, ogling vintage jewelry, trying on lots of clothes, and snapping lots of pictures of the beautiful Victorian houses that ringed the shopping district.
Tonight, the plan is to go to some theatrical production or other...I think it's sketch comedy. And I hope a hot, comfort-food-type dinner will be in there somewhere.
Last night, I convinced my cousin - a notorious teetotaler - to have a beer with me. He claimed to be buzzed hours afterwards, even after we'd inhaled a rich, caloric dessert at a dessert place called Pix. Is that even possible?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment