My parents are going to Puerto Vallarta next week. My dad bought his first pair of sandals for the trip, and for the life of him could not understand why my mother, my sister and I would not allow him to leave the house wearing them. Not that we had anything against the sandals. Our opposition was to the white ankle-high athletic socks he insisted on wearing under them.
"There's nothing wrong with this!" he exclaimed. "You're SUPPOSED to wear socks with them!"
No. No, you're not.
Try as we might, we could not get my dad to understand that it makes no sense to buy sandals if you're planning on wearing socks. Socks defeat the entire purpose of sandals. Anyone can see that! And what he really had a hard time grasping was that we were not trying to be mean to him. We were trying to help him. We were trying to help him avoid becoming that guy. It's a sad and lonely world, and we were protecting him. But he didn't hear all of the "we love you"s and "this is for your own good"s that were woven subtly through our argument. All he heard was, "Seriously? Seriously. Go upstairs and change your shoes. You look like a moron."
Now, I don't consider myself much of a fashionista, Reader, but at least I am not guilty of such obvious faux pas that other people feel the need to save me from my poorly-dressed self.
Or so I thought.
Twice in two days people have questioned my clothing choices - to my face! At work this morning Senior commented on my flipflops. It's a rainy day, and he wondered why I wanted to get my feet wet. My argument was a very convincing, "Oh, well, you know." But what I was thinking was: of course I'm wearing flipflops. It's May! I avoid wearing shoes that require socks whenever possible (we all know that socks + Buscemi ankles = disaster waiting to happen), and it's pretty much a set-in-stone rule that between the months of March and October I wear flipflops. Every day. Every. Day.
I wouldn't have put much thought into Senior's flipflop comment, except that last night I had a perfect stranger question whether my t-shirt was appropriate.
And she was, like, five.
I was painting my TV cabinet and was one can of spray paint short, so a quick trip to Lowe's was in order. It looked like rain, and I was painting outside, so I had to hurry. I grabbed the paint and was on my way back out to my car when I encountered a mother with two little girls in the parking lot. One of the little girls asked, "Do you work here?" When I told her no, she pointed to my shirt and said, "Then why does it say something on your shirt?" I happened to be wearing my Juno shirt that I got at the sneak peak for the movie. On the chest is a "my name is" sticker with "Juno" scrawled across it. I told the little girl what it said.
Her reply was, "Oh. Why would you wear that?"
Why? Because it just happened to be what I was painting in and I didn't take the time to change before heading to the store. At least, that was my excuse yesterday. But the truth is, I have worn that very shirt on occasion just to wear it. Why? Because it was clean. And/or the first shirt I saw when I opened the drawer.
Reader, you know I'm not a good shopper. Anyone that's ever been shopping with me for more than twenty minutes deserves a Congressional Medal of Honor. But even I go and buy a couple of shirts or jeans or something every couple of months. So I started wondering, when's the last time I went clothes shopping? I'm pretty sure it was before Christmas.
Christmas! I've made at least 3 D.I. drops since then. No wonder I always feel like I have nothing to wear. I'm getting rid of my clothes and not replacing them.
So I'm thinking, now that the weather's turning warm, I really should go out and get some new clothes, so I don't have to resort to wearing t-shirts emblazoned with Juno and Potter Puppet Pals' slogans. A few new tops, maybe a summery skirt or two, some khakis...
Hey, while I'm at it, I'll pick up some new sandals. And socks.
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