Which is why Trish dosn't wear hers
One of my happy places:
A large old house surrounded by old trees with big porches and dim lighted windows. Honeysuckle permeates the air and wisteria vines grow up the low stone wall. Everything is quiet but the song of the crickets and the wind playing the trees like an instrument. The red on the horizon blends from purple to blue lighting up the wispy clouds with orange fire. It's warm enough that you feel like you could run barefoot and naked through the soft grass, twirling and laughing for no other reason than life in you and around you.
Two wrongs don't make a right, but three lefts do.