Mother Nature is a Dirty Old Man

Those who know me decently well know that I’m not a huge fan of jeans/or pants.  

This may or may not be related to an incident in the 7th grade, where I happened to catch a glimpse of my ankles while searching for my sewing machine’s foot pedal during Home Ec.  Ankles that should have been covered by my Chic jeans.  (Chic is not an adjective, it’s a Target brand.  Or at least it was in 1996.) Let’s just say that 8th grade saw a resurgence of the tights and miniskirts of my youth. A resurgence that has yet to wane.

This almost-New Year, I have decided to timidly toestep my way into a pant leg or two.  I have also signed up for 5 straight days of Soul Cycle. (At some point my issues with length may or may not have been replaced by issues with everything else - namely, my thighs.)

After today’s class, I ran home to shower and throw on some comfy clothes before trekking out on a few errands.

Denim. Go for the denim. 

Loud sigh. Fine. I shimmy into a pair of skinny jeans and reach for one of my fav sleep-shirt-ish tanks. Jeans are a little tight and shirt’s a little sheer, but none of that will matter when I shrug on this amazingly thick/warm sweater/robe. 

Great success. I head out into the neighborhood to check some generic boxes off my list.

My last stop is a Trader Joe’s stock-up sesh.  (Thanks for the gift card, Santa!)  I gather my two solidly packed bags of groceries, exit through the automatic door and step out into gale force winds. Weather. Eek. Good thing I live close by. 

Bracing myself against an oversized breeze a few minutes later, I look up to see a middle-aged man getting out of his car, staring me down and smiling. Creepy.

The next gust of wind brings a late-20’s-ish dude looking my way, half-smirking before making eye-contact and shooting over a friendly grin. Um. I-uh. Ok. Must be my new glasses? Moving right along. 

When a third surge of atmosphere settles down to reveal an elderly gentleman penetrating my skin with a lingering slash appreciative gaze, I am officially put off. This seems a tad excessive. 

Then I realize he is not penetrating my skin.  He is penetrating the incredibly thin layer of my tank top that is now completely and totally exposed, thanks to the wind forcefully ripping aside the edges of my sweater/robe.  And yes, it is really cold.

Oh. My. God. 

I struggle to free up one of my grocery-bag-laden hands to clutch my cardigan closed. This only lasts a few minutes. Bags. So heavy. Why did I choose today to go full squirrel mode on my kitchen shopping? Over the course of the next 11 blocks, I make several more attempts at keeping things appropriate, to no avail. Eventually, I decide I really only have one option left: Hold my head high and feign complete ignorance. 

It was awkward. 

This never would have happened in a dress.

God Bless America

Him: "Are you wearing a star-spangled bra?"
Her: "I practice non-seasonal patriotism, you finger-wagging Whig."
Him: "And sluttiness. There’s definitely a little sluttiness to this look."  Pauses. Then continues hurriedly. "But, like, Statue of Liberty slutty."
Her: Straight face. Single blink. 

I like to think of this little ode to our-country-‘tis-of-thee as a round-up of middle-class consumerism: Mall brands at the outlets, sample sale selections, resale store goodies, and a dash of affordable e-commerce. Ohhh say can you see. (If you can’t, please sign off immediately and call your optometrist.)

I snagged the open-knit sweater at a 360SWEATER sample sale a couple summers ago, and promptly opened some of those knits a bit further with my snag-happy accessories. I like to pretend those holes are there on purpose. It’s starting to take a heaping spoonful of sass and a healthy injection of apathy to pull off that one in front. 

The striped denim mini is a BeBe outlet find from almost a decade ago. It’s holding on like Hamlet. My favorite thing about this skirt is the figure-flattering ruffle at the top. Warning: Objects in mirror are probably not as skinny-ish as they appear.

The crimson-starred metallic bra is a special little something I plucked from the piles atBuffalo Exchange during my sophomore year of college, in preparation for Beta Halloween. The costume: A vague interpretation of Wonder Woman. It wasn’t really working for me. Really hoping those photos never surface. Especially that one of me on the bus…let’s not talk about it. 

The lace-up boot is ShoeMint’s Suki. I used to wear this pair of legitimate sidewalk stompers with everything until I forgot all about them, leaving them to breathe in the fumes at Fast & Best Shoe Repair. Really excited for this whole reunion situation.


The bag? Well, that’s my work bag. (Also ShoeMint.) It wasn’t supposed to be in the photo. Talk about a Stage Five Clinger. 

Takes one to know one? (Yes, I just wanted to beat you to it.)

God. Bless. America. 

Photo Credit: ithinkironyisSOfunny