Cheerio! Bad Birch Advice Pt. 3

Let’s get after it. By now y’all know the drill. I’m giving completely unsolicited advice that I probably wouldn’t take myself, despite it being damn good. My qualifications: none. I can’t keep houseplants alive and I sometimes have to make pinneys work as real shirts when I’m behind on laundry. In keeping with the theme of the blog this week, most of it is British-themed. Onward ho!


Instant mood lifter: singing in the shower. Do it. I swear you’ll be happy immediately.


Don’t wear shirts with Union Jacks on them unless you are a member of the Spice Girls and it’s 1998.


The only thing you should be doing on your computer after a night out is looking up videos of surprised slow loris’. Under no circumstances should you go on Facebook. Or Twitter. Or your email.


If you come to London INSURE THE BEJEEZUS out of your electronics. Not a joke: was robbed 2.5 times during my stay here (the half time, a cyclist tried to grab my phone out of my hand but was foiled. Hah.)



Learn about tea. Not so much that you act pretentious enough to look like you should be wearing a monocle, though. Enough so you can properly order it without looking like a ding-dong.


Know where you throw your shoes. My apartment looks like the worst Easter egg hunt ever in the morning, I never have any idea where I’ve flung my shoes (or how they got into the bathtub…)


– Guys who “don’t want to put labels on it” are the worst. Oh my god, the absolute worst. The end.



You definitely don’t need another little black dress…unless it fits really well. Then maybe you do. Not. Make up your mind already!


Boys: Are there pockets on the legs of your pants? Because there shouldn’t be. Cargo shorts are for the criminally insane.


– On a similar note: Capris are also the worst. Stop wearing them. I don’t care if this is Europe. Le stop it.

Posted on 05/08/2012, in Bad Advice Babe and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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