Fashion Statement

This beautiful little number is not a fashion statement of the avant garde variety (a term I only know because I watch more Project Runway than is physically healthy, and I wish I were Heidi Klum). Every single white mark on this shirt is a hole or some kind of tear. When Adam unwrapped this gift on Christmas, I was really confused. His family seemed like perfectly sane human beings to me-no rampant mental illnesses or dancing on tables. So where did this gift come from? It turns out this is a shirt Adam loved to wear in high school. One that he stubbornly refused to let his mom throw out. *Blinks, Blinks* I mean that thing, really? It was a great gag gift (as long as he doesn’t start wearing it).

I can picture Adam wearing this shirt because I know Adam (and his legendary stubbornness). People, I'm marrying a man who as a child when his mother told him he couldn't get up from the table until he ate an apple, he held out for hours, never ate the apple, and hasn't touched a piece of fruit since. I'm not even kidding. If Adam decided the sky was lime green, it would be easier to agree with him, than to get him to see otherwise. Oh my gosh, what am I getting myself into? Although he might say that same about me when it comes to my neurosis.

It’s not that I haven't had my own fashion mishaps. I’ve even discussed some in a past entry. I once had a t-shirt that got bleached stained that I absolutely loved. I wore it on a beach trip that I took with a friend & her mom. Nice, Classy people. My mother was absolutely horrified when she picked me up at her house in that ensemble. But I was even more horrified when I saw an old picture of me on face book of a different disaster. Not just because I don't look my best, but because of what I was wearing in public.

So it was obviously really late at night, because I was in my pajamas. I was getting ready for bed when I was lured out to Sonic by some friends who promised cheese sticks. (The first commandment of college is Thou shall not eat late night fast food by thyself.) I guess I decided that putting on real clothes would be too much effort. You know I wouldn’t ever want to risk burning any calories. I am wearing my blue flying squirrel pants. They are called this because I can pull on the sides, and they stretch out to a three feet wingspan, and then I think can fly. They are pulled over my pj shorts with the draw string poking out. Then I have on my black jacket, and there is no denying that it matches my pants. Don’t forget about the pink purse, that just adds something special.

I can picture myself in the future, embarrassing my children when I drop them off at school in a pink, floral muumuu and bunny slippers. Let just hope I get some sense of fashion before I go wedding dress shopping on Saturday.