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November 20, 2006
Day Twenty - In Which I Beg for Clothes
When I was a kid I was a fashion adventurer, until some rather uncalled for taunting regarding a pair of homemade earrings I crafted from rubber fishing lures destroyed my fashion confidence. Although now that I think about it, the taunting wasn't uncalled for. In fact, that was probably some of the most called-for taunting in the history of schoolyard bullying. Because honestly, when you're crafting earrings out of rubber fishing lures, someone needs to stop you. Those bullies probably did me a huge favor, and I didn't realize that until just this very minute.
Anyway, since then I've pretty much stuck with classics. I'm a t-shirt and jeans girl. And by "t-shirt" I mean tasteful, solid-color, tailored t-shirts. Not t-shirts adorned with Looney Toons and Disney charcters. Seriously. Plus-size grown women, I have a question for you: Why? Why in the world would anyone, especially someone of a particular size, choose to plaster Eeyore or Tweety Bird over her triple-d's? Just because Walmart sells it doesn't mean you don't have buy it, Ladies.
But yes, basics with cute accessories. That's my usual uniform, although I've enjoyed the return of loose, flowing peasant-type shirts over the past two years, and I can promise you I'll cry when they go out of style. I'm quite content with my style, and I rarely worry about looking stupid. That's another one of those signs of maturity I've been spouting about recently: being confident that you look just fine and knowing full well that you wouldn't put anything on your body that would make you look like an idiot.
Not the case eleven years ago.
Back then I didn't have the money to dress the way I would have liked, and I was a bit of a spazz about what I should wear. I thought I should be doing something more than the basics, but I was terrified of another fishing lure incident.
One hot summer night, I found myself with a surprise, impromptu offer to go to dinner with a guy I considered to be way, way out of my chubby little league. For one thing, he was diminutive; I'm pretty sure I could have wrestled him into a headlock without much effort. I'm 5'3", but I could look him in the eye, and he was a skinny little wisp of a thing. Because it was the '90s, and all the boys were skinny little wisps. Skinny little wisps with black tribal armband tattoos, nose rings, and floppy, unwashed hair that hid their eyes. My word, it was a good time to be a young, single girl.
Upon receiving the 4:00 phone call for a 7:00 dinner, I promptly started freaking the hell out about clothing. This guy was cool, and I was pretty sure I was a dork. So I took my dorky self down to the only plus-size retailer in town where I dug through the clearance racks until I found something suitable for my broke fat ass - a navy blue t-shirt a size too small and a long, flowing dark blue skirt with tiny white flowers. I threw on a pair of $5 canvas Chinese Mary Janes from Pier 1 and off I went, confident that nothing about my ensemble would trigger memories of days spent on the doc with Granddad and a fishing line.
The night progressed, and my confidence grew. Perhaps I could pull off the tiny t-shirt/twirly skirt look. Maybe that's the piece that was missing from my syle all those years. I could be the stylish hippie girl! Yeah! From now on I only wear flouncy skirts, little shirts, and teeny-tiny little shoes and date only boys who are in bands.
Or so I thought. As the date was ending, the boy walked me up a flight of stairs to the top of the parking garage. I was talking and flirting, confidence through the roof, when it happened. My little canvas-clad left foot, the one that wasn't used to flouncy long skirts, stepped on the skirt's hem. Unfortunately, the message from my foot that read, "Dear Brain: I am standing on your skirt. Love, Left Foot" didn't reach my brain in nearly enough time. I continued trying to ascend the stairs, gradually tugging my skirt lower on my hips. In an attempt to save my ass from the harsh light of the moon, I tried to take the next step with my right foot while untangling my left foot.
Now, considering how long it took the first relatively short message to reach my brain, there was no way the next message - "Dear Brain: Mayday! Mayday! We are trying to coordinate an effort down here to prevent the entire body from going end-over-end down these stairs! Assistance! Assistance!" - was going to get to my brain in time. And so my right foot flung out from under my skirt at a speed generally reserved for kicking grand slams in kickball, my big toe contacting with the concrete step that had been all of three inches in front of it, all while my left foot continued tugging my skirt further and further south.
"I had a really good time tonight and I hope we can do it again soon," I told my date as my eyes crossed from the searing waves of pain radiating up my leg from my big toe. When I looked down I saw four Chinese canvas Mary Janes, two of them that looked like they had been worn for a shift on the killing floor.
Eventually my eyes uncrossed as numbness set in, and I realized that 1) I only have two feet, and 2) only one of my big toes was no longer in ownership of a toenail.
After the boy accompanied me and my hobbled, bloodied foot to the car, I never saw him again. Which just goes to show that no matter how cute the outfit, it doesn't do a damn bit of good if it's on a dork who's better suited in jeans and t-shirts, instead of trying to be someone she's not. Or maybe it just goes to show that the boy was an ass because my God, did he not notice the bloody footprints I was leaving behind? Because he sure as hell didn't say a damn thing about them.
Anyway, why am I telling you all of this? Because I'm trying to win free clothes from IGIGI via Crazy Hip Blogmamas, and I have no shame. Go see The Fashionistique. Oh, and here's a coupon:
Posted by Robin at November 20, 2006 07:30 PM
Comments
Good Luck!
(oh - and your link to The Fashionistique doesn't work - I think it is misspelled.)
Posted by: Kathy B. at November 21, 2006 01:33 AM
Funny story ... hope you win!
Posted by: Lori at November 21, 2006 06:32 AM
I could envision the whole thing...
One Parent Open House, one of the moms came in with a t-shit, several sized too small, that said "Over Forty and Still Doing It." I am still cringing.
Kathie
Posted by: Kathie at November 21, 2006 06:59 AM
Ah, the hand-made earrings... Mine weren't lures, but they were certainly the target of taunting -- to the point that they never made it to school; I tossed 'em out the window of the bus on the way.
Love the story! Hope you win!! :)
Posted by: Debbie at November 21, 2006 10:48 AM
I go with the boy was an ass for not noticing your bloody footprints. That sounds exactly like something that would happen to me. As much as I like long skirts, I'm not coordinated enough to wear them.
Posted by: Katya at November 21, 2006 06:39 PM
Kathy, thanks. I fixed the link.
Kathie, my 70-year-old great-aunt showed up to Christmas dinner a few years ago wearing a t-shirt with "Hottie" emblazoned on it in rhinestones. I wish I'd rememered that when I wrote the post; I would have included the picture.
Debbie, you were much smarter than me. I should have tossed my earrings out the window. Or better yet, into a body of water.
Katya, I'm still not coordinated enough to do the long skirts, but I wore them all last summer. Lived in mortal fear of a bloody foot repeat.
Posted by: Robin at November 22, 2006 12:23 AM
dude, email me or tell me what size you are. i am doing a purge and i have no one to give stuff to.
Posted by: jenB at November 24, 2006 11:29 PM
