XY life, PDQ

Tuesday, nov. 26, 2002   |   0 comments

So on Sunday, at TV night, I did a whole bunch of DARNING (am I making you hot?), because while I was weeding and organizing my closet, which I did all Sunday afternoon (you’re panting now, right?), I unearthed a bag of “fix me” clothes that I’d filed away well over two years ago.

So while we were watching Runaway Bride (yeah I know, but “Alias” wasn’t on and that put us in the mood for a nice, hate-able movie), I stitched up some holes and revived a skirt, two pairs of pants, and a shirt, thus keeping the laundry wolves at bay an extra two days.

So right now I’m wearing a salvaged pair of navy blue boy pants and a salvaged velvet tank top under a cute vintage sweater (it’s cream-colored with a border of dyed-on blue and red ribbons and bows). There are also some red shoes afoot. All in all, it’s a little to match-matchy for my comfort, but whatever … no laundry!

It wasn’t until I got on BART and I tried to smudge away the latte I’d just sloshed in my lap that I noticed I’d missed the main reason these pants were languishing in mending land: There’s a hole about an inch long right below the zipper, like a little peephole for the world to preview the odd, pink laundry-day underwear I have on. And I’d forgotten that this tank top is the one that rides up when I walk. In fact, this shirt is the cause of the EvanyTM “invention” of safety-pinning my tops to my bottoms with a pin at every belt loop — it keeps your pants up and your belly warm! I also just realized that there’s something about the EXTREME matching relationship going on between this sweater and the rest of my outfit that makes the sweater look a little too … festive. The sweater doesn’t light up or anything, but it does have that “Christmas Countdown” feel, for sure. So today I am also crazy-holiday-sweater lady.

Which reminds me: When I was at my dad’s “Love that Harmony” barbershop chorus concert last week (yes!), a friend of my dad asked me, “Hey! What purse did you bring this time?” Much to his disappointment, I was only carrying the green bookbaggy thing, the frumpy one with all the pockets and pen loops (since the gift-giving season is upon us, I think I should tell you that I’m a HUGE sucker for slots, zippers, and secret compartments). “Oh,” he said. “No wacky bag this year?” Inside I groaned. Yes I do have a lot of funny purses — there’s the coconut one and the little shiny black pants one, and the TV one, and a whole array of furry ones — but does that necessarily make me “the annual wacky purse lady”? Yeah. Pretty much.

I think that once you get to the point where people see something, a nutty purse or some Vegas chicken thing, and they say, “That would be PERFECT for Evany!” or they actually look forward to seeing what crazy new addition to your collection you’ve managed to acquire this year, you really are in trouble. I really am in trouble.

Clearly the purse thing is already a problem. The gambling paraphernalia thing (anything with cards, dice, or craps tables on it) is currently on yellow alert. And I’ve put a watch on the chicken issue (my rooster lamp is at the core of that snowball, I’m pretty sure). And now the too-cute sweater situation is also being monitored closely.

In the meantime, here I sit, rocking the kooky ribbon cardigan as my gut and crotch rock the free world. Bizam!