Sunday, January 4, 2009

What Not To Wear

This weekend, I fly to Atlanta. For work. This means I will have to dress myself in something other than my standard work uniform. Getting dressed for my real life looks something like this: 1. step into the same pair of fat jeans that I wear every day because absolutely under no circumstance will I commit to a larger size. 2. slip on which ever long sleeved top features the least amount of cat hair.

So, I'm talking with Ireland, telling him about the trip, where I'll stay, meeting times and locations. "What are you going to wear?" he asks. What I wear is of paramount importance to Ireland. According to him, his tutelage over these last 18 months is the only reason people don't point at me on the street. Transforming me from a slut-muffin and into a wholesome, fresh-faced Irish lass is one of his primary goals in life. Because when I look good, he looks good. Oh Yeah.

So when he asks "what are you going to wear," he doesn't just ask the question, he dissertates - while looking over the top of his glasses. It's what I call his Father Time Look. He uses it when he's about to impart some wisdom he's certain I'll be too unsophisticated to appreciate. "Oh, I don't know," I respond. "Probably nice jeans and a top. Maybe a jacket."

He closes his eyes. Shakes his head. Sighs. "Ye can't wear fookin' jeans to a business meeting!" He is clearly distressed. Have I learned nothing from him? Really, I counter. What then, should I wear? A nice skirt, he replies. With a blouse. Oh, My Fricken Word. A blouse. I've seen the "blouse" he has in mind. It actually has cap sleeves and ruffles. I pause. Humor him. Shall I wear pearls, I ask. He considers this for a moment. T'would be nice, he responds. I roll my eyes. OMG. I'm an artist, I remind him. We don't wear ruffled shirts and pearls anywhere, for ANYTHING.

He's still wearing The Look. Once again, I've revealed myself as a classless & hopeless shrew in dire need of taming. Even white trash such as myself knows that no outfit is complete without proper footware. And on my feet, I ask? What shall I wear on my feet? A nice pair of heels, he counters. Perfect. You'll recognize me as the artist from New Hampshire teetering around the streets of Atlanta in heels and pearls. And lest we forget, a ruffled blouse.

I'll drive myself to the airport. I have no fricken idea what I'll be wearing. But I promise you, there will be no pearls. Or ruffles.


Debbie said...

I don't own a nice skirt, a blouse (with ruffles or not) or a pair of heels. I am a fashion failure. Comfort is the word of the day.

Laura said...

Oh eff it. Where whatever you want. But let me know what it is BECAUSE I'LL BE AT THE ATL SHOW TOO. We're in booth #416 in Handmade. Where are you?????

Sheree said...

I'm meeting a manufacturer in America's Mart, Building 2. I have a pass to the show, so I will come by and see you. How fricken cool is that? I'm gonna see Laura in Atlanta! Email me your cell number.

Oh, and as for my wardrobe, I'll most likely be a study in black.


I think black is the new heels, blouse and ruffles. If not it should be.
WV: oused
What is the new definition of one who's house has been taken away from due to the failing economy.

kwr221 said...

I could send my 10 yo over - she totally rocks the WNTW question.

You're arty, or artsy, or both - you can wear what you want and declare creative genius.

kwr221 said...

Are you going to see Lorrie, too!?

I'm SOOOO jealous!

Sheree said...

I'll miss Lorrie by two days! It's probably just as well as my first appointment is just a couple of hours after my plane lands. I'm also booked the next day - in on Saturday and out on Sunday. I'll probably have to run to catch my flight home. All the more reason to leave the heels at home.

Lorrie Veasey said...

I'm back: you're going.
My fashion advice: pashmina baby.
The mart is cold BTW.
Eme when you get back: i wanna hear alllllllll about it.

Lorrie Veasey said...

ps go see my stuff in building 2--8th floor-enesco

Miss Thystle said...

Well then, what DID you wear? We all want to know. Or I do, at any rate, and I'm sure the other girls all do too.

I hope it wasn't the dreaded blouse. "Blouse" seems like something elderly women wear. "Slacks" is another word I dread. No slacks and no blouses for me. EVER.

Sheree said...

Black, from head to toe. Mixed up the funeral theme with some accessories - belt, scarf, necklace, a watch that won't keep time. I brought heels but my feet refused to have anything to do with them. They were screaming after practically walking to Atlanta from NH. In flats.

In case you haven't been, the airport in Atlanta is about 6 miles long from one end to the other. I arrived at one end walked to the other, completely unaware that there was an actual train I could have ridden.

By the time I arrived at my hotel downtown, I wanted to kill people. Everyone I met was wicked friendly, and I even wanted to kill them.