Strolling

Here's to the girl who's not pretty and not nice and she knows it. She's not fashionable, nor does she ever intend to be. She's not on Instagram and she hasn't got 35,672 friends on FaceFuckingBook. She doesn't buy stuff from Amazon. She thinks influencers are a mug's game. She likes to defy the odds. She doesn't give a toss about mainstream rules and regulations and she laughs at social status. She's brazen and jovial and light.
So she dons her bowler, grabs her captive balloon and off she goes a strolling and a wandering in the Submerged Secret Woods. Little odd fishes come out of their snug hidey-holes to stare and gape and gossip and giggle. And to toast her shamelessness.
N.B. The captive balloon is a freely and willing captive balloon. In part because, being a sociable beastie, it likes the companionship and in part because untethered it's apt to float away and get hopelessly lost.
Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn.
Gore Vidal
PS. I so feel like taking a wee break after this here doodle. I’m indescribably tired, in semi-constant pain and utterly disgusted with the medical racketeers at large. Perhaps I’ll join the brassy damsel and her chubby balloon and we’ll go for lovely imaginary strolls in places congenial and have phantom picnics in deep forests and quiet deserts.