Fact: writers cannot dress themselves. I am no exception. And, because I spend a lot of time at home alone, and because I pay for my own heat (meaning the thermostat never goes above 65), this winter has resulted in several baffling and hilarious sartorial combinations. To wit:
- thermal underwear twin set from Kmart, size 1X (for that sexy kurta effect) worn under quilted, checkered construction worker shirt
- grey "sweater leggings" from Target rendered unwearable in public due to extreme knee-bagginess, thermal undershirt and flower-print summer dress under turquoise cowl-neck sweater
- thermal underwear set again, avec quilted down vest that is exactly the same as the one worn by the old Chinese lady at the fruit store
- grey sweatpants, grey cashmere sweater with holes in it, long, black-and-grey Dorothy Zbornak-esque sweater (to be honest I wear this most days)
- same thermal underwear set, this time paired with a pink bathrobe for that stay-at-home mom look
- completely naked except for a blue hooded sweatshirt and my husband's bedroom slippers, no socks (laundry day)
- same blue hooded sweatshirt, paired with heart-patterned granny undies from the Gap, fuzzy bathroom slippers (laundry day variant)
Most of the time, these wardrobe choices are accessorized with a pair of taupe gloves from H&M that I cut the fingers off of so little balls of taupe synthetic wool scatter like tumbleweeds across my desk when I wear them.
On a related note, I just found a Museum of the Moving Image sticker on the back of my calf.
That's all. Carry on.
