Some people know a lot about fashion, and have great instincts, and always look put together and polished. I am not one of those people. I would happily spend the rest of my life in comfortable jeans, a black t-shirt, and a pair of those big clunky nurse clogs that do nothing for the turn of my ankle but sister I can stand all day in them and my feet don’t hurt so you can have them when you pry them from my cold dead toes.
Mostly I’m with Gilda Radner, who claims to base her fashion sense on what doesn’t itch. I totally admire the put together thing, and I always wish I had the verve (and, honestly, the budget) to sport a sleek hot pink trench coat, but it just never seems to work out for me. And I’ve made my peace with that.
All of that said, even I know that you’re not supposed to wear shorts with black socks pulled up all the way to your knees.
I know better. I do. But I just don’t care, at least not this morning.
At some point, probably, he’ll start to care what girls think about him, and that will solve this problem. (And create myriad new ones, no doubt.) Until then? He can pair the black socks with a bright purple tutu for all I care.
Fashionistas, you have my humble apologies. Avert your eyes.