Surely I’m not the only girl who does this before leaving the house. Surely I’m not the only girl who tears through her closet like an animal trying to find something decent and cute and flattering to wear to parties, interviews, or dinners with friends. Surely we all do this.
I blame the fact that I work from home. I blame the fact that I spend a good chunk of my day conducting phone interviewing and writing stories in a T-shirt and underwear. I blame the fact that I now despise shopping in any store that sells trendy summer scarves. I love summer scarves. I’ve always loved summer scarves. Why did they have to become trendy?
I blame the fact that my sister PK gives me her hand-me-downs. That the pug sheds on everything I own. I blame sweatpants. If sweatpants are so unacceptable, they should be uncomfortable and smell like sewage. If something is soft, loose and moderately clean, I’m wearing it. But why must these rules change in public? Why!?
Tonight I spent 30 minutes trying to find something to wear to a company party. My wardrobe is so G.D. old you’d tell me to shut up if I told you when and where I purchased my stuff. For example, I wear a pair of Old Navy jeans from 9th grade on a regular basis. They’re Joe’s favorite jeans. As you might recall, last year I purchased a pair of $150 7 For All Mankind ass jeans from Stein Mart. But of course it’s the saggy bottoms from 9th grade that Joe loves best. (Note: Yes, I shop at Stein Mart. It makes me feel old and retired in all the best ways.)
The black shirt I ended up wearing tonight was PK’s when she was in high school. I used to steal it and wear it to work at Waldenbooks when I was in college. It has a tiny pocket on the shoulder, so tiny my friends nicknamed it “the condom pocket.”
The white pants I wore came from Block Island, Rhode Island. My best friend Ro and I pedaled across the state in 2004. When we got to the coast we decided to cross the Atlantic Ocean on a ferry, where we landed on a tiny island with big biking potential and too many bars. After three hours on the island we were so drunk and tired we missed the 8 o’clock ferry back to the mainland. The third reason why we missed the ferry was because I came across a killer sale at an uppity boutique, where yes, I bought the white pants.
So tonight I wore the Rhode Island pants and PK’s condom shirt. After 30 minutes of ripping off one ill-fitting garment after the next, (including a new tweed dress from Ann Taylor) I decided to go with an old and well worn outfit. I always do this.
Anyway. I digress. My sloppy fashion sense wasn’t supposed to be the focus of this post. Instead I signed on here to tell you that a couple of weeks ago, while my sister PK was watching The Bachelorette, a gecko shot across her living room floor. Freaked by the sight of this reptilian invader, she decided to trap it under a ceramic Japanese cereal bowl. She said it was her only option, that she was too engrossed in The Bachelorette and therefore incapable of relocating the beast. I know this because I unknowingly called her during a commercial break.