This outfit has a story. No, Captain Von Trapp didn't lose his shit because Maria did mushrooms and made it for me out of her bedroom curtains, and I also didn't repurpose my Grandma's couch (but I did recycle that metaphor). Where shall I begin?
It was a lovely afternoon in the city of Vancouver, and here I am, minding my own business, when I notice that a pesky itch I've developed on my stomach and had assumed were a few mosquito bites, was getting worse, looking rash-like, and starting to spread to my back. "I knew I should'nt have shotgunned Four Loko with those Mozart wig wearing midgets and agreed to be their olive-oil covered human slip-n-slide," is what I didn't say to myself. "What the f*ck?!" is what I did.
shirt & shorts: Zara, shoes: ALDO x FLARE Magazine, bag: Rebecca Minkoff, sunglasses: Westward Leaning, jewelry: assorted.
Naturally, my first assumption is that I've developed leprosy because I've stopped going to church (Catholic problems: you always think you're pregnant or plagued) until I realize that a suitcase I had last brought to New York City has been in my bedroom, and I begin assuming the next worst thing: "holy shit, did I bring back bedbugs?"
No, I didn't. Because I googled bedbugs and those little insect assholes do some really serious damage to the human bod and also, I wash my bedsheets a lot because you don't know this, but I'm a bit of a germophobe. (Borrow my hairbrush? I will cut you.) Anyway, it was clear that I didn't, but I still telephoned my mother and cried, "Mom I think I have bedbugs!" (actually, I told her I thought I was dying first to soften the blow) to which she said "ew that's really gross" and suggested I go see my doctor. If you're not uncomfortable with how much I'm talking about bedbugs, rashes, and alluding to my naked body, I applaud you.
So me in my head-to-crotch florals head to the doctors office. Sure, I'm wearing a blouse and matching shorts, a shit ton of jewelry, and was probably a bit too leggy for a doctor's appointment with my high heels on, but heck! I was already dressed and not going to slum it like Jennifer Lopez's love life by changing into something else.
I wasn't near my family doctor's office so I headed to a nearby medical clinic for a walk-in visit, parked my car, and exited the vehicle. As I'm walking down the street towards the clinic, I see these two men, around my age, walking towards me. Usually when I'm in this situation and a couple of dudes are approaching I begin to repeat the appropriate mantra, "please don't talk to me, please don't talk to me" because the last thing I want is an awkward interaction, cat call, or a horrifying pick-up line cast in my direction.
But I'm wearing a whole lot of florals. And bitchin' neon shoes. And super sweet reflective sunglasses. And a big ass crystal necklace. And I'm pretty sure I'm strutting down that street like I'm Sasha mothasucking Fierce. Bring it on boys, check me out. I dare you.
They do. They both look me all the way up, and all the way down. We brush past each other, and I can feel their eyes still on me as they both take a glance back. Drink it all in boys. I'm wearing floral short shorts, strappy black leather heels that could give Christian Grey a halfie, and I'm heading into a medical clinic with an unexplained rash: this could be the sexiest I've ever been.
As my mouth begins creeping into a smile, I hear laughter exploding from theirs. There might have been a muffled "what is she wearing?!" but I'm not certain. All I know is that they were laughing at my outfit, and they were laughing as if it were the funniest thing they've seen in years.
The moral of the story? Wear whatever the heck you want. There are clothes that not everyone is going to like, but they're probably going to be dumb dudes wearing trackpants in public, so who cares? Not us. And not Sean Penn. Carry on my wayward sons. Let your freak flags fly and the sartorial honey badgery continue.
(Oh right, the rash. I suppose that was an unnecessary part of the story. It was actually just an allergic reaction, but if I ever do pick up a biblical disease, I promise I'll blog about it.)
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