Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sometimes I surprise myself and do something so painfully lame that I fall down a shame spiral of epic proportions. Today was just such a day. I have been on a mad laundry streak for the past six weeks, doing laundry five out of seven days of the week. Yet somehow I had noting to wear. I must say that I have done a very good job of throwing out or donating anything that I no longer wear or that is so spattered with paint that it looks like I rolled in a fresh Jackson Pollack ( I understand that this is mathematically impossible, it was said for dramatic effect). Perhaps I did better than I imagined 'cause I was standing there looking in the closet, staring really, like you do when you look into an empty fridge fully believing that your laser beam stare will cause food to materialize and nuthin happened. All I could find was this heinous coral tee shirt with a bedazzled butterfly. Oh, the toxic shame!
I can recall the exact place and time that I purchased it. I was in Pennsylvania on a girl's weekend, with my three best friends in the world, the people that are supposed to have my back and they let me buy the tee-shirt equivalent of mom jeans. We're sisters. Friends. Co-conspiritors. How could they let me do this? Moreover, how could I let my taste compass go so wiggly? Did I step into a rogue magnetic field? Did I accidentally take mescaline instead of motrin? WTF?
Luckily I wore awesome earrings today. This may be the only thing that kept me from hiking my pants up under my bra and wearing my hair in a head-banded blunt bob. I am dancing dangerously close to holiday sweater territory. I am am making a plea to my girlfriends (and you know who you are) to subject me to a Clockwork Orange style reconditioning if I ever go into this territory again or at least crack me upside the head with a copy of Vogue. Stage a style intervention. This is my cry for help!