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Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine shirt

27.99$ 22.99$

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Product Description

Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine shirt

It rained the first Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine shirt . three days I was in Puerto Vallarta, and the forecast predicted there’d be a crazy storm coming at the end of the week. The crew thought we should forget about the shoot, get out while we could. But the photographer said that we could shoot between rainy intervals.

Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine shirt

Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine hoodie
Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine hoodie
Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine ladies tee
Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine ladies tee
Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine longsleeve tee
Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine longsleeve tee
Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine sweatshirt
Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine sweatshirt
Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine unisex
Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine unisex

We all monitored the hourly forecast, and I remained on call from sunrise to sunset Sometimes I question my sanity but my Betty Boop told me Im fine shirt . It was enervating—all the waiting—so by nightfall, I needed to spend my energy. But not with the photographer or the crew. Every night, I tied my hair in a ponytail and went for a swim. I wished I had a bike.On the third night, near the hotel, a pack of stray dogs blew past me—barking, trotting, gnashing at one another and pouncing on the backs of nearby dogs. They scattered  briefly whenever a car came nearby—their eyes flashing in the headlights—before returning to formation. Lagging behind the pack was a brown hairless dog with alert ears, like a deer. It limped, then lay down. Limped, then lay down. One of its rear legs was raw, the muscle stripped back like licorice. I got close to it, and it barked—but erratically, like it couldn’t tell where I was. Possibly in shock. Or old. I knelt beside it. No, it was blind. I let the dog smell one of my hands and placed the other on its head. Suddenly the dog turned its head and barked in the opposite direction. A bus stopped near the hotel, exhaled, then heaved forward. In the dusty aftermath of the bus, Hudson appeared, walking toward me, knapsack slung over one shoulder. Even at a distance and through the dust, I could see his eyes and his cheekbones, both of which seemed disproportionately large for his face. He was thinner. He looked at his phone, upward at the hotel, back at his phone. He adjusted his knapsack. Then he saw me near the side of the road with the dog. He didn’t say anything—even when he was close enough to speak. He just turned his palms upward. Meaning, What are you doing out here? Meaning, Do you want me? Meaning, Is this enough for you? Beneath me, the dog was scraping its leg with its teeth. Making things worse. Hudson approached. My phone vibrated like an alarm.

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