tobermory's Diaryland Diary

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Clothes horse

Lo and behold, I found the skirt I want to wear tonight for the rich whitey party. Better still, it fits and didnít need to be ironed. Last night I searched the depths of my closet, the big hall closet (my closet annex), the coat closet, Steveís closet and Steveís rolling garment rack* to no avail. Only when I got pouty about not finding what I wanted to wear did Steve show me the secret hanging garment box that contained just about every piece of summer clothing Iíve purchased over the past two years - naturally the skirt was in there. Why did I not know of the existence of this box? Itís the middle of August now and I only have about a month left to wear all these fun summer clothes Iíve just found. I swear Iím going to be the best dressed person for the next 4 weeks Ė I wonít have to wear anything twice.

∑ How is it that my husband, whom I seem to only see in one pair of ugly cargo shorts and one of his thousand t-shirts, has a whole closet ecosystem of neatly hanging khakis, dress shirts, sport coats, and cool retro bowling shirts? Not to mention the rows of nice shoes Ė all with shoe trees in them. How did this happen? I swear the man has almost as many clothes as I do (but nowhere near the number of shoes) but I never see him in them Ė itís like he has a secret life for which he needs to be much, much better dressed.

I told Steve that shorts would be OK for the party, as long as they were nice, dressier shorts. I recommended that he wear one of his Nat Nast shirts. His only quandary was what to wear on his feet. He asked if his Globe skateboarded sneakers would be OK, but I nixed them as too casual and too juvenile (although they are cool Ė just not at the rich whitey party). I told him to find some sort of summery shoe that he could wear without socks and he said he wasnít sure that he had anything like that. My answer to the situation? I told him to go to the mall today and buy a pair. He was appalled, but really, isnít that what any sane woman would do? Why should men be any different? I canít wait to see what he winds up wearing.

I have some time to kill before the party and Iím going to attempt to polish my nails. I hit Ulta at lunch and bought a few different colors of polish including a nice opalescent blue that would perfectly pick up a blue in my skirt and match the turquoise frames on my glasses. The only problem is that my 80-year old father has the crazy idea in his noggin that blue fingernails = hooker. I seem to recall a particular argument that we had while I was in high school because I had painted my stubby chewed-upon nails blue. It ended badly when I questioned why he was so knowledgeable about how to spot a lady of the evening. Iím hoping heís over that by now Ė if he thinks everyone who has blue nails is a whore then half the high school girls in America can be had for the right price. Since I donít want him to burst a blood vessel in his head maybe Iíll just use the pearly pink polish.

2:49 p.m. - 2006-08-18

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