Why am I not wearing a ladies pant suit? WHY am I NOT wearing a ladies PANT SUIT?
WHY AM I NOT WEARING A LADIES PANT SUIT?!!
In that moment I realized something. How did I end up in sweat pants and old band shirts? There is nothing and no one on gods green earth dictating my wardrobe but me. I am the king of this mountain. I can do anything. I can wear anything. What I am wearing is extra lame with a side of no, no, no, no, no. I need the classiest of all the onesies. What's there to even think about? Do I have a dress code? NO. There. I'm finished thinking.
|This beauty can be found at www.diaryofavintagegirl.com|
I'm in my mid thirties. I'm old. Not old enough for all of lives treasured milestones. I can't shoplift yet. I can't make wild accusations and punt random children at the park. I can't make scenes. I'm only allowed to say 'what?' twice before it's considered rude.
Side note: When I'm an official blue hair I plan on saying 'what' as many times as it takes for people to just shut the hell up. Eventually people will give up talking to me and I will finally have peace and quite. Sweet, sweet quiet. And if people think they can just come in to my area and talk to each other I will turn the tv up so loud the vibration rattles my teeth. I'll keep my mouth open too so everyone can hear and it's extra creepy. Speaking of false teeth. I'm going to get really really big ones that barely fit in my mouth. I will take them out of my mouth and cup them in my hands to bite people, and things, and people.
|"Grandma Stacy has a hard time hearing and remembering where her teeth go"|
Enough about that. Lets focus. Where do I go all day? What do I do? Who do I see? Can I go, do, and see all these things in a ladies pant suit? I stay home, I drive my kids to their gazillion activities, sometimes the bank, or the store. I clean and write and make important calls and pretend I'm a ninja who has just been shunned because I refuse to slay my master even though he became evil. Because I know it's not him that is evil, it's the ancient dragon stone he was tricked in to taking from a Shaolin temple. So we fight. I see strangers mostly, sometimes my neighbors, my friends when I'm feeling sassy. This is all very lady pant suit friendly.
What is the appropriate age for a ladies pant suit? I looked in to it. I said "google? How old was Mary Richards on the Mary Tyler Moore show? Google said "30 something" and I said "that's what I like to hear googley!"
What about being sexy? I'm a woman, sexy is important right? NO. No it is not. NOPE! I have no intention of bringing sexy back. I told sexy to leave. And I meant it. Sexy wants me to shave my legs and have things that pout and things that push and some curves but not other curves. Plus, last time I tried to dress up sexy. It didn't really work. If sexy were a project at a science fair I would have received a participation ribbon and sad sympathetic smiles, and a lot of advice about how being more prepared and organized and knowledgeable about the topic would have really helped my grade. With that sad little truth in mind I can easily bid you adieu sexy! We had 18 years together. We're through. I mean it. Don't call. Don't make things weird. Just go.
|Note to self: One really shouldn't raise one's arms like that. |
When your pants are attached to your shirt there is an unfortunate faux pa.
|Plenty o' room for a future fupa!!|
I could never do high kicks in traditional pants. This is actually a huge selling point for me. I like kicking, and I could feel at ease doing a lot of spontaneous kicking if I were wearing a belt like that. I couldn't help myself. If you know me you already know I can't wear scarves because of the constant urge to belly dance. According to MMA experts, kicking is more impressive than shimmying. Just sayin'. Look at her. Just look at her. She looks so free. I want to be free. That's the kind of outfit with a tag that says 'ONE SIZE' that is a relief. With proper diet and exercise I think I could quite easily stay 'ONE SIZE'
Which brings us to our final consideration. What will other women think? Me sauntering around, polished, sophisticated, intermittently weaving in an effortless roundhouse. Who cares? Seriously. I don't even kind of. The fear of another's judgement is not enough to dissuade me from envying an enticingly breezy pant-shirt union.
It's settled then. Welcome to the Stacy show pantsuit, romper, onesie, jumper, best idea ever. It's really the perfect time to segue my ass in to giant underwear. Though buying my undies where I buy my sprinkler parts and tractor tires really should be a treat I save for my 40's.