Because I am So Full of Style

With “Desperate Housewives” on in the background – I am lightly pondering clothing. Considering Clothing: A memoir.

We trekked out to Wal-Mart today because I love Dr. Scholls shoes and it’s the only place to get them. (Yes, I am a 60 year old nurse. Secret’s out.) As we all know, there are shoes days and there are pants days. And today was pants day. Goodness gracious. The perfect plaid pants, made by a man named “George,” on the clearance rack for $14. Can there be a Wal-Mart downtown? That would be AWESOME. (shh, shh, just kidding.) In line behind me at Wal-Mart there was an older gentleman buying a packet of pink fuzzy yarn. We were in line 15 minutes. “All that money they save, they should hire more cashiers,” he said, twice, I think. So true!

And Ashlee Simpson has done a shampoo commercial.

OK and I think that all parents should let their children buy their own clothes. It tracks back to me as a kid, being allowed to choose my own special occasion clothes after strict policies of practicality laid down by my parents. Naturally when set free I went for the most Welcome To Carnival! Starring David Lee Roth on Acid! look on the rack. Still traumatized. Because of this, here’s me at the age of 60 becoming obsessed with the perfect raincoat, the perfect pants and the perfect cardigan sweater. I torture myself the way 19 year olds binge drink; by going into clothing stores, shoving as many identical, overpriced items down my throat as I can hold and then retching my way home, gnawing on my own fist to keep from plunging it into the guts of the people who have already FOUND the perfect raincoat and are flaunting it. Fuckers.

Pizza Hut has made pizza in the shape of a rectangle so that it can be cut and dunked in sauce. My question here is: why is one of the sauces yellow? Pizza doesn’t need to go anywhere near yellow sauce.

And I quote: Ocean Spray now comes with 2/3 less carbs.

And I decree: If you mix Sheridan’s with rum, you get a Shebang.

So anyway, I want this coat but I don’t know why. I think it might be the 7 year old in me, stomping her feet and refusing to comply with this season’s abundence of party-mint coloured, hip length trench coats. Should I bid?