OMG, I am so going to be shot dead by the fashion police today.

I was pretty groggy when I woke up at 7am after my late night o’ typing, and so my judgment may have been impaired when I looked into my pile o’ clothes and picked out my current attire.

See, my Mom really loves me and she’s sweet and kind enough to buy me clothing from time to time. Occasionally, this is a huge success. Other times, not so much. An example of one of the latter, doubleplusungood instances of apparel horror is what I believe she referred to as the “smart-looking” suit I am sporting this morning.

It’s Tommy Hilfiger, which is an immediate strike against it, but the most notably bad feature is that it is bedecked with zippers in abundant, inappropriately eighties/biker areas like POCKETS AT THE FRONT OF THE SKIRT AND JACKET, RIGHT UP THE FRONT OF THE SKIRT, and CONTINUING UP THE FRONT OF THE JACKET.

The jacket is this bolero-style travesty that has waaaay too much fabric across the shouler-blades, creating the mesmerizing illusion that I’m packing breasts on both the front AND back. Which is actually really repulsive looking and I pray that plastic surgery and porno never carry us to the state where that becomes a fashionable trend.

I’ve been avoiding a description of the fabric. Picture it: dark denim. Shiny dark denim with teeny-weeny diagonal cross-hatching in white. Shiny dark denim with thin tan-coloured vertical pinstripes woven at 1/2 inch intervals perpendicular to the white cross-hatching (except at the cuffs and collar, where the pinstripes run horizontally). I have chosen to pair this with another of my mother’s garage-sale finds, a collarless white shirt with alternating 1/8 inch and triple 1/16 inch pinstripe in navy blue. Too. Much. Pinstripe.

The skirt is belted with a snap-fastening one-inch strip of the same fabric. The skirt is also (in contrast to the ultra-short jacket) *inexplicably* long, going to almost mid-calf despite my desperate upper-waist adjustments to accomodate its unwieldy length, causing me to look like Jaleel White’s long-lost sister, ‘Urkletta’.

Pantyhose? No.
Leg hair? Yes.
Deodorant? No.
Navy-blue suede loafers? Yes.

I am so sexy today it hurts. It really, really hurts.

I should have known that the situation was dire when I went back into the bedroom after getting dressed to give a good morning smooch, and his face got all twisted up with that “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit” look. You know the one. And he didn’t even have his glasses on yet.

What’s that? What are you asking? Paper? Writing? How did it… *crackle*
*buzz*
I’m sorry…
*static* …I can’t hear you… the line’s breaking up…