I want to bitch about clothes, and the evil that they do to the human form when in the hands of EVIL DESIGNERS and LAME TRENDS.
First off, let me say that I fucking hate bewbs. Hate. Them. I may change my mind later, but today, I would jam a vacuum in there and suck 'em down to a B and be happy for ever more. "Why? Why, Stoney, when bewbs are so womanly and soft? They are dirty pillows for which I like to rest my head?" you may be saying. Because they make girls with big ones look FAT, that's why. Or, you can wear a teeny, tiny, skin-tight friggin' kleenex and look like a whore with big bewbs.
Here's a little something about me. I like to dress tastefully. Maybe a bit conservatively, but not first-grade teacher conservative, and you know what I'm talking about: jingle bell necklace on a ribbon and applique-sweater-vest I am NOT. Ann Taylor. Anne Klein. Suits. Button down shirts. A hint of sex, but not "club wear." Like... Audrey Hepburn. Classy and lovely.
My options for a holiday outfit appear to be: spaghetti-strapped lingerie tops, filmy, see-through lingerie tops, SPARKLY, SHINY sweaters with GOLD THREAD or sequins or baubles or... Basically, nothing I would wear. Number one, I don't wear thin straps. ALSO, IT IS DECEMBER. Number two, I don't wear cap-sleeves, because they aren't FLATTERING unless you have no meat on your bones, and I... do. And they make your arm-pits sweaty. I do not wear "sparkly" clothes, because I don't. No sequins, no shiny, metalic threads, appliques with shimmer and shine... I- No.
It's like clothes are made for 18 year old who go clubbing and are out to lure dudes, or for older women who like a big freakin' poinsettia out of sequins on their shoulder for the company party. Where are the cool clothes for women who are ONLY 33!!! And don't like to be NAKED because do I have to say again that it is WINTER? I do not understand "shrugs." Or weird little jackets that hit right under your tits, thereby increasing their enormity in profile and RUINING MY NIGHT.
If only I hadn't already worn my hot little Mandarin-collar dress (it's soooo pretty, and COVERS MY ARM TOPS) that hits my shins. With a slit up to there. Or my wonderful antique dress from the 20s. Found a GORGEOUS woman's tuxedo, and thought it was over! Hurrah! 865 big ones. D'OH! Of course. Found a simpler one that looked as nice, fraction of the cost, yet still out of the budget Mr. S gave me. GRUMBLE. I may not be going to this STOOPID party. I'll be Sam in the auto-shop car before the geek sings happy birthday. (Anyone? Anyone get that?)
Okay, I know that my "woes" aren't. I KNOW. But I freaking HATE shopping in regular stores for stoopid clothes, and I would rather buy OTHER people things than for my DUMB BUTT. *sits on a dictionary to smarten it up* I am totally cracking up now. GAH. I should wear my kimono and act like I'm not in costume. WHY CAN'T I WEAR A COSTUME??? *goes as a disco dancer in my skates and RUINS my husband's chances of advancement* Be more fun...
NOW. Who wants fudge? *passes the tin around* Okay, I'm laughing, which is all I needed. I'm wearing a bathrobe to this goddamned party.