a short, self-absorbed, note

i walked past a girl outside a club last night. she was wearing knee-high sport socks, converse high tops, and a houndstooth mini skirt. as i thought to myself how cute she looked, i sadly realized that i would probably never again be able to pull off an oufit like that. at least not with dignity, or not outside the confines of my bedroom, where anything goes.

what does one wear as one begins their thirties? what is off limits? when does one look like they are trying too hard? what outfit crosses the line into the pathetic? do i have to pack away my silver wedge shoes? are tube tops still o.k.? do i cut my hair short? or do i wait for my forties? ugghh...

can i at least keep my lime green heels?

interestingly, as my outward attire grows more somber, edging into turtlenecks and black, i find my underwear drawer becomes more and more daring. it's literally bursting with pink, red, and black forays into the rockabilly erotic. just as i begin dating people more for what they are on the inside, and less for outward appearances, i metaphorically keep the sexy stuff under my knee length skirt. hidden, for you to find :)


RANDOM FACT: i love late night alphaghettis. my corner store stocks them just for me.