It’s only 10:30 here at work and, already, I’ve had 3 people look me up and down when we’ve exchanged in-passing hellos. I even went into the restroom to check myself out in the full length mirror there. I’m wearing a grey sweater and black corduroys that have a sort of neo-classical arabesque print (smallish, not garish). I’m also wearing my black boots and a tasteful pewter brooch. I mean, the pants are a bit much but that’s why I paired them with the plain top. This begs the question: Am I Loosing My Grip on General Reality? I never really get to dress the way I would like to—my job is too Teamster to allow for skirts or nice blouses and kicky shoes. I could be scaling a 7 foot ladder or spelunking into some mouseshit filled basement nook on any given day so I try to dress for function as well as form but I have some NEVERS that I adhere to with as much discipline as I can: no visible stains, no floods, only one piece of jewelry (not counting the wedding ring), no too-short tops, no floral print t-shirts, etc.
The sad thing is, I feel like I’ve recently been pulling out of a clothing funk. I’d been incredibly lucky in a few cases, finding things that me and only me can appreciate: 2 big plastic rings on sale at Macy’s (one of which has the cherub from "Japanese Whispers" embedded in it), a bunch of Halloween socks on sale at Filenes, 3 pairs of pants at Goodwill and 2 brand new deeply discounted tops at Macys (these could even be considered “fashionable”). So what’s with the looks?
If you think I’m bad with me, you should see me in the morning, dowsing rod and 1945 fall issue of Vogue Francais in hand, trying to dress my son to impress the other mouthbreathers at daycare. His list of NEVERS includes: camo, sweat suits, specific sports teams and actual advertising and/or brands. Out of spite I try to find kitty themed boy clothes because, as we all know BOYS like DOGS and GIRLS like CATS. I also have to take daycare into consideration—the all black onesie with the grim reaper appliqué is a weekend outfit and the Halloween pacifier with the little devil face (“Binkstifer” as he’s known around the house) is a private pleasure.
I suppose its best for everyone that we didn’t have a girl. Can you imagine? That would be like a bunch of OCD milliners launching a parade float every morning.