Break for Ruffles

Back at college, there is a crew of four best girlfriends I claim as my own. Two are tomboys, two of us are, well, definitely not tomboys. (I'll let you take a gander at which category I fall under.) Nicknames quickly ensued to label each pair: ruffles and cleats.

Eating Freeze Pops on the quad last May

So I'll admit: In all my ruffle splendor, and after my first May to August summer of working 8 to 5 (and many a late night) at Southern Living as an unpaid intern, I was in need of a reward.

With dad's worn oversize Polo t-shirt on my back and Greek letter flip-flops on my feet, I sleepily trekked over to Montgomery's L'Esprit Salon Da Spa this morning for a hot chocolate pedicure and manicure. (Can't explain, you'll have to believe me.)

With Essie's ballet slippers pink on my pampered nails and toes, I'm back and ready. Return to the blogosphere? Starting senior year? This ruffle's ready.