The police man’s outfit was very nice looking and was very formal. The police might have choosen the dark blue cover for the outfit so they could blend into the dark.
Okay outfit is something I see when someone is wearing, which is nice and beautiful sometimes, but sometimes i just get uncomfortable seeing someone’s inappropriate outfit but that’s up to them to wear something as they see fit. not me.
the outfit we wear depends on the occasion and the kind of mood we are in. Outfit represents the cultre and the kind of person he/she is , or wants to showcase. Outfit can be warm or cool.
I really think a good outfit is important. it shows your tastes what you like about yourself. what you want others to think about you. it is perfect source of no wait, outlet, for creativity on a day to day basis with your body as the canvas. it maybe is similar to collage, dressing yourself. you’ve got the basic materials and it’s fun to rearrange them. it’s ‘vain’ b// but it’s actually considered very important in everyday life.
his outfit was made from another man’s skin. it was cold and did not fit. sagging skin and the smell of death emitted from the outfit. it is unfair and repulsive.
She wore a long red dress. It cascaded to the floor. The dress sparkled at she walked in her black heels. Her outfit was on point and she new it too. She felt like grace and it was all because of the red dress. It was simple, but elegant.
the outfit of that slain day;
some overalls and a rued baseball cap;
resplendent though, I remain, because
winnowed tuxedo(s) with shimmering ties
are the outfit
of the day
not slain
never in vain
would I remain, over a breathe, a situation, when she said no.
Bear-clawing through my bitter, echoing of remorse,
riding that horse into that dame’s shining light,
is the signal
the bright
that keeps me pasty and ready to fully-ignite
all that I am, for all that I want!
It is morning. With eyes still closed I sense the sun rising gently above the city skyline. Swallows are chittering to each other above the hum of traffic. I feel the warmth of you beside me. I hear your breath, slow at first but quickening as you wake. The weight on the bed shifts as you rise and make your way to your wardrobe. Without looking I can see the neat rows of crisply ironed shirts, hanging light to dark in subtle shades of blue and grey. My conservative man. Sensible, logical, but oh so tender in the bedroom. Soft and deep in the dark of night.
This is the last time I will see you. My eyes open to witness the final embellishments. Cufflinks. Aftershave. You smell divine. The outfit is complete. You kiss me goodbye, not knowing that I will be gone by the time you get home.
I’m sorry I was not enough to wipe out the memory of her.
I envied Jessica and her astounding lack of doubt. It was as if she could construct the rules of the entire universe for herself. She was a true believer in every notion that happened to find itself inside her mind. She knew beyond doubt that it would rain on Sunday, she knew that Eliza Roberts would have a terrible accident before the summer was out and she knew for absolute certain that her blue tongue lizard would learn how to change colour – like a chameleon. After all. what was the difference? So with all of life’s optimism she would take Barry with her wherever she went, presenting him with new challenges, sprays of foliage and floral linen, a sheet of newspaper or prints of Picasso paintings. She would sit and watch him in front of the television fully expecting him to become part of the flickering hue. Not deterred by an initial lack of success, one Thursday afternoon on the way home from school she struck a new height of inspiration. With her long red ponytail flying behind her, Jessica ran home ahead of the rest of us and gleefully rummaged through Mumma’s cupboard until she pulled out the perfect thing, a gold lame handbag, and proceeded to instruct Barry to change his outfit. Sure enough….
It was the outfit she was wearing the night she died, he realized with a start, dropping the bloodstained dress, watching it flutter to the ground as he remembered.
At least it had been an almost painless death.
A single gunshot to the heart.
Your outfit can explain a lot about your personality. So WEAR WHAT YOU WANT TO WEAR. Don’t think about fashion, what others like, what the models are wearing. Wear what makes you happy. Wear what makes you love yourself even more, and what makes you look at yourself and say “I’m hot!”. That’s what counts in the end.
I bought a new outfit yesterday. I was at the mall when I saw it and I decided to give it a try. I really liked it, I thought I looked good when I wore it.
It’s never her demeanor, no matter how “overly friendly” she seemed to you. It’s never her sexuality, never the number of partners she’s had. It’s never her outfit, or the fact that she’s drunk. Never the time as well. You don’t get to blame a rape victim just because you can’t keep your animal instincts in place.
I looked at the brown boards in front of me, opening the doors to my closet to see the clothes i could find for the day. Today was the first day of high school and i needed to find a cute outfit. this was the start of 10th grade. I HAVE to look pretty!!!
Is it new? When did you buy it. I love it. Such a beautiful color. Can I have one too. Perhaps it would work for our company. Sort of a uniform. you know. It would look good on anyone.
We filled our back packs with whatever we thought we might need for the weekend; clothes, of course, and toiletries, and a few forbidden treats. The mildew smell of the canvas tents would forever trigger the memory of that trip- campfires, hiking trails, laughter and friendship.
we were an odd bunch, just like sundance’s were called the wild bunch, their hole in the wall gang. We were more like the hole-in-the-socks gang. Mismatched, unattached outfit we were. Still, we were never caught for all our heists back in the day. We couldn’t keep a set of horses if we tried.
Her outift was strange, for a kid in the slums. At first glance, it seemed like any other kid’s rags. Faded trousers and tunic, over sized jacket with a worn cap snug on her head. But if you looked a little closer, you could see hints of a black, tight-fitting article hugging close to her neck and peeking out of her sleeves. Plus, her combat boots didn’t really look like they were something a kid like her could afford. Of course, the girl didn’t give anyone a chance to recognize any of these details, because she was quite occupied with weaving as quickly as she could through the crowd, away from some unknown figure behind her.
She turned in the mirror and smoothed her hands over her stomach, raising a critical eyebrow at the color pallate. Risky? Perhaps. But why be modest? She grinned at her reflection and winked. It was perfect. There was no way she could go unnoticed in the crowd. The simple gold jewelry was the perfect accent to her eyes.
I pretended to be asleep
as she slipped the dress on,
gliding over her curves
and resting at her shoulders.
the soft click as she closed the clasp
of her necklace, the tap
of her shoes out the door.
Scared that if i wear the wrong outfit, i might feel wrong.
We wear them to cover our parts, our asses.
Different locations have different styles to cover their asses.
They(us) just don’t cover them.
We do it with skill and style.
Why do you wear your outfit?
Suddenly she looked down at herself. When did she get this outfit put on her? she went to move but soon realized her hands were bound to the table. she struggled, nothing. She looked around the room she was in but could not find a door, she was alone and terrified.
the outfit was a deep blue, like the ocean. it was beautiful ad caught her eye almost instantly, she walked over and ran her hands along it, feeling the fabric. lifting it off of the rack she smiled. this was her outfit.
I put on my dark red hooker-like outfit on and I decided not to stop until I feel just like the girl I was seeing in the mirror – bold, promiscuous and numb of feeling.
The outfit was perfect, she observed as she turned this way and that and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked into the shop and noticed that the one young girl behind the counter was in conversation with a young man. She placed her old clothes on the hanger, arranging them so the rips and patches could not be seen, attached the price tag on the blouse, put her coat on, and walked rapidly out the shop. She slowed only to place her old clothes on the counter, and said, “sorry, they don’t fit.” The girl said nothing, but continued her conversation with the man.
she stares blankly
eyes blurring
as in a daze
why does it feel so alien
how are we equal and yet
i can’t look like the others
and all that scrimping and saving has resulted in a nought attempt as blending in with
this outfit
Never had good colour co-ordination. Tried different theories of it from Goethe to Newton but if you don’t feel it, you don’t feel it. Girlfriends have tried teaching me, shaming me, tugging at my shirt and pleading me not to leave the house like that. A good head for dates and a musical ear is some sort of consolation, but if I could be the Jerry Lee Lewis of outfit management, fingers banging that keyboard of colour like a shithouse door in the wind, I’d know I was really living right.
The outfit was weird. That was the only thing she could say about it. It was bright yellow, speckled with green polka dots, with a giant, feathered hat to go with. She wondered what kind of person in the world would ever bother wearing something like it.
His outfit was from another century, a sleek white lab coat the only piece of clothing not the color of mud. He spoke like he didn’t expect anyone to actually listen to him. He spoke nonetheless. We have to leave this place, he said. We have no food, and the bodies have started to clog the river. We have to leave. I saw his hands grab the barbed fence. They’re shaking.
I tried on the outfit that my father had laid out for me on the bed, and to my surprise, it fit me well. The navy blue blazer and matching slacks slipped easily over my gangly appendages, the cuffs of the white dress shirt caressing the spot where my wrists connected with my palms. He walked in as I was tying the black tie – a Windsor knot, of course.
I had to buy a new outfit for the prom. But I was having trouble finding the perfect dress. One was too pink and puffy. Another one was too plain. Finally I found the perfect outfit for prom.
She likes to prepare her outfit the night before. It kept her feeling in control. the same way she kept her room, neat, orderly, and in control. Her outfit was laid out carefully on her chair, her shoes under it so as not to appear messy.
The police man’s outfit was very nice looking and was very formal. The police might have choosen the dark blue cover for the outfit so they could blend into the dark.
The mans outfit was very nice looking. It was a black and white suit with a black tie and matching shoes so the man looked very important.
covered in glitter.
The pressure society puts on you to cover up all your features. DEEP
“Her outfit is ridiculous,” the popular girls said.
“Only because you ridicule me,” she retorted.
Okay outfit is something I see when someone is wearing, which is nice and beautiful sometimes, but sometimes i just get uncomfortable seeing someone’s inappropriate outfit but that’s up to them to wear something as they see fit. not me.
the outfit we wear depends on the occasion and the kind of mood we are in. Outfit represents the cultre and the kind of person he/she is , or wants to showcase. Outfit can be warm or cool.
Mankini is my favourite ;) . Dildo that is, We are watching, we are legion, we’re doing if for the lulz
Every girl has an outfit. The struggle with outfits is that, many times we can’t make up our minds.
I really think a good outfit is important. it shows your tastes what you like about yourself. what you want others to think about you. it is perfect source of no wait, outlet, for creativity on a day to day basis with your body as the canvas. it maybe is similar to collage, dressing yourself. you’ve got the basic materials and it’s fun to rearrange them. it’s ‘vain’ b// but it’s actually considered very important in everyday life.
his outfit was made from another man’s skin. it was cold and did not fit. sagging skin and the smell of death emitted from the outfit. it is unfair and repulsive.
She wore a long red dress. It cascaded to the floor. The dress sparkled at she walked in her black heels. Her outfit was on point and she new it too. She felt like grace and it was all because of the red dress. It was simple, but elegant.
the outfit of that slain day;
some overalls and a rued baseball cap;
resplendent though, I remain, because
winnowed tuxedo(s) with shimmering ties
are the outfit
of the day
not slain
never in vain
would I remain, over a breathe, a situation, when she said no.
Bear-clawing through my bitter, echoing of remorse,
riding that horse into that dame’s shining light,
is the signal
the bright
that keeps me pasty and ready to fully-ignite
all that I am, for all that I want!
It is morning. With eyes still closed I sense the sun rising gently above the city skyline. Swallows are chittering to each other above the hum of traffic. I feel the warmth of you beside me. I hear your breath, slow at first but quickening as you wake. The weight on the bed shifts as you rise and make your way to your wardrobe. Without looking I can see the neat rows of crisply ironed shirts, hanging light to dark in subtle shades of blue and grey. My conservative man. Sensible, logical, but oh so tender in the bedroom. Soft and deep in the dark of night.
This is the last time I will see you. My eyes open to witness the final embellishments. Cufflinks. Aftershave. You smell divine. The outfit is complete. You kiss me goodbye, not knowing that I will be gone by the time you get home.
I’m sorry I was not enough to wipe out the memory of her.
I envied Jessica and her astounding lack of doubt. It was as if she could construct the rules of the entire universe for herself. She was a true believer in every notion that happened to find itself inside her mind. She knew beyond doubt that it would rain on Sunday, she knew that Eliza Roberts would have a terrible accident before the summer was out and she knew for absolute certain that her blue tongue lizard would learn how to change colour – like a chameleon. After all. what was the difference? So with all of life’s optimism she would take Barry with her wherever she went, presenting him with new challenges, sprays of foliage and floral linen, a sheet of newspaper or prints of Picasso paintings. She would sit and watch him in front of the television fully expecting him to become part of the flickering hue. Not deterred by an initial lack of success, one Thursday afternoon on the way home from school she struck a new height of inspiration. With her long red ponytail flying behind her, Jessica ran home ahead of the rest of us and gleefully rummaged through Mumma’s cupboard until she pulled out the perfect thing, a gold lame handbag, and proceeded to instruct Barry to change his outfit. Sure enough….
It was the outfit she was wearing the night she died, he realized with a start, dropping the bloodstained dress, watching it flutter to the ground as he remembered.
At least it had been an almost painless death.
A single gunshot to the heart.
Your outfit can explain a lot about your personality. So WEAR WHAT YOU WANT TO WEAR. Don’t think about fashion, what others like, what the models are wearing. Wear what makes you happy. Wear what makes you love yourself even more, and what makes you look at yourself and say “I’m hot!”. That’s what counts in the end.
I bought a new outfit yesterday. I was at the mall when I saw it and I decided to give it a try. I really liked it, I thought I looked good when I wore it.
It’s never her demeanor, no matter how “overly friendly” she seemed to you. It’s never her sexuality, never the number of partners she’s had. It’s never her outfit, or the fact that she’s drunk. Never the time as well. You don’t get to blame a rape victim just because you can’t keep your animal instincts in place.
I looked at the brown boards in front of me, opening the doors to my closet to see the clothes i could find for the day. Today was the first day of high school and i needed to find a cute outfit. this was the start of 10th grade. I HAVE to look pretty!!!
Is it new? When did you buy it. I love it. Such a beautiful color. Can I have one too. Perhaps it would work for our company. Sort of a uniform. you know. It would look good on anyone.
We filled our back packs with whatever we thought we might need for the weekend; clothes, of course, and toiletries, and a few forbidden treats. The mildew smell of the canvas tents would forever trigger the memory of that trip- campfires, hiking trails, laughter and friendship.
we were an odd bunch, just like sundance’s were called the wild bunch, their hole in the wall gang. We were more like the hole-in-the-socks gang. Mismatched, unattached outfit we were. Still, we were never caught for all our heists back in the day. We couldn’t keep a set of horses if we tried.
Her outift was strange, for a kid in the slums. At first glance, it seemed like any other kid’s rags. Faded trousers and tunic, over sized jacket with a worn cap snug on her head. But if you looked a little closer, you could see hints of a black, tight-fitting article hugging close to her neck and peeking out of her sleeves. Plus, her combat boots didn’t really look like they were something a kid like her could afford. Of course, the girl didn’t give anyone a chance to recognize any of these details, because she was quite occupied with weaving as quickly as she could through the crowd, away from some unknown figure behind her.
She turned in the mirror and smoothed her hands over her stomach, raising a critical eyebrow at the color pallate. Risky? Perhaps. But why be modest? She grinned at her reflection and winked. It was perfect. There was no way she could go unnoticed in the crowd. The simple gold jewelry was the perfect accent to her eyes.
I pretended to be asleep
as she slipped the dress on,
gliding over her curves
and resting at her shoulders.
the soft click as she closed the clasp
of her necklace, the tap
of her shoes out the door.
Scared that if i wear the wrong outfit, i might feel wrong.
We wear them to cover our parts, our asses.
Different locations have different styles to cover their asses.
They(us) just don’t cover them.
We do it with skill and style.
Why do you wear your outfit?
I have an ofit than i like to ware to school it is yellow. the jpants or blue ant the shoes are red. I look like a clolwn ub
Suddenly she looked down at herself. When did she get this outfit put on her? she went to move but soon realized her hands were bound to the table. she struggled, nothing. She looked around the room she was in but could not find a door, she was alone and terrified.
the outfit was a deep blue, like the ocean. it was beautiful ad caught her eye almost instantly, she walked over and ran her hands along it, feeling the fabric. lifting it off of the rack she smiled. this was her outfit.
I put on my dark red hooker-like outfit on and I decided not to stop until I feel just like the girl I was seeing in the mirror – bold, promiscuous and numb of feeling.
The outfit was perfect, she observed as she turned this way and that and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked into the shop and noticed that the one young girl behind the counter was in conversation with a young man. She placed her old clothes on the hanger, arranging them so the rips and patches could not be seen, attached the price tag on the blouse, put her coat on, and walked rapidly out the shop. She slowed only to place her old clothes on the counter, and said, “sorry, they don’t fit.” The girl said nothing, but continued her conversation with the man.
she stares blankly
eyes blurring
as in a daze
why does it feel so alien
how are we equal and yet
i can’t look like the others
and all that scrimping and saving has resulted in a nought attempt as blending in with
this outfit
Never had good colour co-ordination. Tried different theories of it from Goethe to Newton but if you don’t feel it, you don’t feel it. Girlfriends have tried teaching me, shaming me, tugging at my shirt and pleading me not to leave the house like that. A good head for dates and a musical ear is some sort of consolation, but if I could be the Jerry Lee Lewis of outfit management, fingers banging that keyboard of colour like a shithouse door in the wind, I’d know I was really living right.
mismatching outfit this day won’t be perceived as weird for one, but he would suffer in the future when he looked back on what he wore yesterdays.
The outfit was weird. That was the only thing she could say about it. It was bright yellow, speckled with green polka dots, with a giant, feathered hat to go with. She wondered what kind of person in the world would ever bother wearing something like it.
His outfit was from another century, a sleek white lab coat the only piece of clothing not the color of mud. He spoke like he didn’t expect anyone to actually listen to him. He spoke nonetheless. We have to leave this place, he said. We have no food, and the bodies have started to clog the river. We have to leave. I saw his hands grab the barbed fence. They’re shaking.
I tried on the outfit that my father had laid out for me on the bed, and to my surprise, it fit me well. The navy blue blazer and matching slacks slipped easily over my gangly appendages, the cuffs of the white dress shirt caressing the spot where my wrists connected with my palms. He walked in as I was tying the black tie – a Windsor knot, of course.
I had to buy a new outfit for the prom. But I was having trouble finding the perfect dress. One was too pink and puffy. Another one was too plain. Finally I found the perfect outfit for prom.
She likes to prepare her outfit the night before. It kept her feeling in control. the same way she kept her room, neat, orderly, and in control. Her outfit was laid out carefully on her chair, her shoes under it so as not to appear messy.