Raise your hand if you remember how awful girls could be in junior high and high school. Yep, I thought so. Remember agonizing over whether you said something stupid to the popular group at lunchtime? Or wearing something to school that looked totally awesome at home in front of your own mirror, but you realize the minute you walk in the door that it is somehow all wrong and you have to wear it all day feeling ashamed and awkward in front of the girls who obviously had it all together? Or when a group of girls behind you in the hallway burst into giggles and you were convinced they were laughing at you? (If you don’t remember, just watch Mean Girls.)
So this guy came to measure my windows this morning and when I opened the door for him, he had a box in his hands. “Found this on the steps,” he said. I’m sorry to say that I may have clapped my hands and/or said, “Yay!” and straightaway began opening the box, before realizing that I probably should invite the guy in and show him my windows, seeing as that’s why he was there and all. But as soon as he was engaged with his electronic measuring gadget-thing, I tore into it and lifted out…
Several of you have said, in regard to my last article, that I have my own style, that “classic” clothing isn’t really it, and that my style fits my personality — that my outsides match my insides. Someone told me I can do classy or classic successfully when I need to, but that my true, inner style is “funky and creative.” So, all that sounds great — I’m funky and creative and my clothes are fun, and if my clothes are fun and my insides match my outsides, then I must be fun and creative inside, which is what I hope I am and which is how I feel (good thing I’m writing and not talking because that last sentence would have totally winded me).
Okay, the shirt from which I cut the sleeves (nice use of correct grammar, right?) both works and doesn’t work, in my opinion.
Yesterday I had a plan: I would wear my new turquoise Converse kicks with cropped jeans and a favorite Free People oversized shirt — it’s a sort of pink-y blue corduroy, with a soft flounciness that I love. Hadn’t worn it in awhile. And I’ve shared my thoughts about weight gain right? (No, haven’t lost it yet.) So I put on my sneaks and jeans (not in that order) and a soft T-shirt and then I went to put on the Free People shirt and… I. Couldn’t. Get. It. On.