Jeans and Heels

Sometimes when I am taking the bus to work, I like to get off at the main transfer station and walk through downtown sightseeing to catch the other bus I’m getting on instead of grabbing it right there at the depot. So I did that today, but only because there was a 20 minute lapse in time and I figured I could get the few blocks with time to spare before the bus came. And I did. On my way, I walked past a small handful of ladies dressed really cute. And that’s when it hit me. A moment of clarity. I seriously have no fashion sense.

Well, I do, but it closely resembles that of a four year old learning her colors and what does not go together. If the majority of the world would not wear it together, it’s probably in my closet. And vice versa. For instance, jeans and heels. What. The. Fuck? I don’t get it. I don’t like it. I don’t think it looks good. But then again, I don’t even own a pair of heels. My heel ownership is solely contingent upon me appearing on dancing with the stars or some other dance show, competition or class. And then I want those really expensive dance heels that look like heels but feel like a Serta mattress for your feet. Also, cowboy boots and dresses. I actually like that look but it, too, comes with a contingency. If you are cute, that look is cute. If you aren’t, and come on, we all know when we aren’t, so maybe just don’t.

No. I take that back. Do it. Keep doing it. If jeans and heels make you happy and if cowboy boots and dresses make you happy, by all means, be happy. I’m just jealous that I can’t pull it off. I’m really not trying to be judgy, but if I were a man, I’d be being judgy, because one fashion statement that I sincerely don’t understand is skinny jeans or sagging. Hell, as a woman I don’t understand. Skinny jeans? Where is your dick in there? I kind of feel like skinny jeans and those ugly joggers are the same except for the space. Skinny jeans= no space for your trouser snake. Ugly joggers= all kinds of Python space. You could literally have Elephantitis of the nuts and nobody could tell in joggers. And the whole saggy pants thing? I don’t want to see your Hawaiian marijuana printed boxers. Nobody does. Except maybe your girlfriend. Or your cell mate.

You know what’s sexy? Belts. That’s how you get attention. A nice fitting belt to hold up your nice fitting pants. Swoon…

Ok, I realize that I am being a little judgmental for someone who has less fashion sense than an entire kindergarten graduation class, but that’s pretty much the extent of it. Well, I can’t tolerate a bunch of stupid people in a room either, but that doesn’t make me judgmental, does it? Otherwise, I’m open to everyone. Except religious fanatics. I don’t need your preachy-drink-the-kool-aid opinion on my lifestyle either.

Oh. My. God. I take it all back. My daughter is right. I’m a judgy bitch. The more I write, the more examples of my intolerance are springing to mind. So I will stop right here before this list gets ridiculously long all because some woman wanted to step out at 9am wearing jeans and heels while I was wearing mismatched socks.