Now comes the part of the show in which, as if you were my newly acquired boyfriend and you were to partake in your very first and very stressful meet-the-parents scenario chez moi, and my well-intentioned mother were to pull out the baby albums and further cement the awkwardness between the two of us when the very first picture that you came across consisted of a miniature version of me contently gnawing on my left foot. Excited? You should be. Because I was god damn cute people. And clearly, quite the contortionist.
But beyond this irrelevant introductory paragraph, there is a point to all of this nonsense. Yesterday, I aged....a lot. A full year in fact. I made the leap from 22 to 23. So, without further adieu, I give you a style snapshot of Lisa in infant form followed by Lisa in adult form. The former rocked frilly hair bows mixed with boyish yellow rompers and infantile charm while the latter now wears weird pants and has really terrible dance moves and, because of her lack of the previously mentioned boyfriend, has no one to barrage with these pictures and must settle for showing them to her probably disinterested readers who likely have much more important things to do.
Humour me bitches, it's my birthday.
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