First, go here. Get that smooth Frank Sinatra playing.
Last night I planned my outfit, just like the good girl that I am. Set it out, an old favorite black sweater and my green skinny jeans. It’s going to feel like spring this week. Perfect for a flying honeymoon, they say… I even put out my turquoise necklace, a birthday gift two years ago that has these fantastic flat beads that look big mentos candies strung together.
I got dressed this morning and was pretty sure I felt like a million bucks.
Then it was time to take the scalawags to school. I needed an extra sweater to wear under my coat, because it isn’t yet warm enough to just wear a coat. Okay, but since it is supposed to be spring weather, I made the brilliant decision to wash all of my handknit sweaters, which are all in neutral colors, this morning. They were in the washing machine. So I grabbed the first thing my hand landed on, which was a salmon colored cardigan. “No one will see the sweater,” I reasoned.
Inside my coat was already a scarf, an eggplant colored scarf. “Okay,” I reasoned. “Someone might see the scarf, but it will be separated by the gray coat from the green jeans. You’ll be fine.”
Then shoes. My elf boots, obviously.
As I zipped up my coat, I was starting to feel a little hesitant about the whole outfit. I pondered this all the way to school and halfway home realized why.
Look at that photo up top.
Now look at this.
Holy cow. Are you with me? Here is the rest of the unfortunate ensemble:
You know, just when I start thinking I’m getting a handle on my personal style and then I end up dressing like…like this.
I am a big fan of costumes. Currently, my scalawags have a collection of superhero costumes that would embarrass a movie studio. I remember when I played Eliza Doolittle in a high school production of My Fair Lady and we rented costumes from a real costume company in New York. I remember excitedly dreaming about the ball gowns and the Ascot dress. Those kind of costumes are fun.
I did not, however, bargain that today, February 15, 2021, I would, even after somewhat careful mise en place, end up dressed like Peter Pan’s forty-three year old grandmother.