↷ POWDEROOM | W.BELL
@admiralbell
In true good ol’ American fashion The Bells were having a fourth of july barbecue reminiscent of the ones Corinne used to have when she was a kid. Their backyard is filled with enthusiastically dressed mothers, daughters, brothers, and sons. Not the she hated William, nor did she think he hated her— at least she hoped he didn’t, she was still surprised an invitation was extended and accepted in a heartbeat. Unaware of what the dress code was at the Bell residence she opts for a simple t-shirt and shorts combo, spicing it up with a pair of wedges. A stupid decision considering the uneven grass of the backyard she was made to traverse. Although it gave her a bit of a challenge, she doesn’t show it when they start tossing around a football. Having perfected her spiral back in high school, she takes the opportunity to show off her talents. Had someone took a picture of the whole scene, it could have easily been mistaken for a J. Crew catalogue. Where she excelled in throwing did not make up for her inability to catch, and with a leap indistinguishable from that of Odell, she knocks the ball off course and rather than a complete pass to the outside, it’s intercepted...by her face.
Within the span of five minutes she’s sat on the toilet of William Bells’ powder room with a wad of kleenex stuffed up her nose and wash cloth as she tries to dab the blood out of her new shirt. Does Anthropologie accepted bloodied returns? “Well regardless, it was nice to finally meet your wife— her potato salad is amazing by the way, and your kids are all very sweet too,” she says, voice nasally.