The difference between ugly and hate

I've been thinking a great deal lately about the difference between clothes that're ugly and clothes that I hate.
This is mainly because although I recently (read: sometime last month) organized my closet enough so that I could enter it, it has now become so disheveled and crammed that although I can reach into it, I can no longer get into it.  This makes it harder to chose clothes.  So I generally go with what I can see.  And this leads to some interesting choices.  Many are the days I have appeared at work looking like I got dressed in the dark.  I didn't, I just don't care if I match or not.  And many are the days I have worn things I don't particularly like, just because they are clean and within reach.

There's a difference between things that are ugly and things that I hate.  Some fit into both categories.  Sometimes it's the way things fit or feel.  They can be staggeringly uncomfortable.  Or ill-fitting.  Or just WRONG.  They can be wrong.  As I am trying on these garments I am putting them in the bag to go to the charity shop-- one monkey's trash is another's treasure, which is how I ended up with many of my lovely clothes in the first place.  And I am glad to see them go to another good home.

But as I sometimes wear these emergency clothes (read: need to clean your room, Miss!) to work, I often think about how clothes make you feel.  The subtle differences in your day when you feel better or worse just because you have the dark and guilty secret that you are wearing an elasticated waistband, or that you folded over the waist of your trousers to stop them falling down, or, as has happened to me, that your trousers DID fall down in the parking lot on the way in to work.

I'm trying.  I buy clothes too large without trying them on.  I have long felt that I am not good enough for good clothes.  I am trying to feel better.  But I do love my ugly clothes.  I am just trying to love ugly clothes which actually fit.  It will save me hours of parking lot humiliations in the long run.

Not my monkey

This is not my monkey

This, also, is not my monkey

Brilliant!  I love Polish! I love Poland! I love pierogi!
I love the fact that the phrase is "not my circus, not my monkey!"  I will be practicing saying it in Polish.

You may not know this, but as Scotland had an influx of Polish people in the early 2000s, some people learned some Polish phrases.  I was one of them.  I can say hello, how are you, thank you.  And now I can say, "not my circus, not my monkey."  Watch out, Polish bouncers, prepare to have your socks and/or trousers&pants knocked off!

Starting on the wrong foot

Today's trousers: fancy jeans
oh, and by "fancy" I mean: they have no holes, they are dark blue, and they fit.
The shirt that accompanies them: blue oxford shirt which also fits.

It is the shoes which complete the ensemble which are the subject of today's sermon blog.  I'm wearing sneakers (uh, trainers).  I told one of my bosses I was going on a date, that's why I'm dressed so nicely (i.e. wearing clothes that fit).
He said, "Oh, did you bring date shoes?"
I said, "These are my date shoes."
He looked at them again.  "Oh." With accompanying grimace.

(Even friends of mine are worried that these shoes send the wrong message.  I think they send a great message.  That message is: "Listen, pal, I'm sure you're nice and all, but I can kick you in the junk and run like the wind!")

I did recently buy some new shoes but they are more of a second date kind of thing.

Look, I do ok in the summer, I just wear a dress all the time.  But today I had to wake up (that in itself a horror show), fix my mophead (I am not even kidding!), and get ready for work.  Then I am supposed to figure out clothes! Jeez! The pressure!

I'm doing the best I can.

However.... tomorrow I will be going to see my awesome friend STELLA and drinking all the drinks.  (With plenty of time to look beautiful!) Neither one of us are excited about this at all.

(yeah, that's my mophead AFTER it's been fixed, by the way.  yikes)

Sock insurrection

Today, shockingly, my socks are staging an insurrection.

Perhaps it is their proximity to the baby poo brown plaid trousers (yes, again! Alright, I woke up late for work and blah blah blah!), perhaps they lamented my choice of brown shoes... but my black work socks have staged a slouch-in and have refused to cooperate.

They have fallen down on the job.
They are refusing to cooperate.
And so they will be punished with a trip to the bin.

Oh, it's true, I could give them to the charity shop... but why on earth would I give disobedient socks to some unsuspecting person?  No.  I will not!

(Oh, and maybe they were trying to teach me a fashion lesson... well ok.  No more black socks with brown shoes... not ugly enough... brighter, uglier colors from now on... Prints! Patterns! That's it!!!)

(Above is today's ensemble- the aforementioned ugly trousers and ever-present shapeless green work cardy)

Small...far away

These are small, Dougal, and these are far away.

The problem with being the one doing the photos for this thing (because my beloved co-workers are far away) is that ALL the photos are just ever-so-slighty (or ever-so-greatly) off. As demonstrated above.

Today's trousers: tweed skirt, green shirty-thing, green cardy, and knee socks. Not my full-on librarian, which is MUCH classier.  (Green shirty-thing seen below, as is my pre-caffeine face, be warned!!!)

Maybe I should have warned you about the mad badger hair as well. It's to be expected, generally.

Clearly, though, I have been missing a trick in the trouser department (in the non-dirty way!).  a friend has pointed out that RED TROUSERS are the way to go.  I'll get shopping, post-haste!  Or better yet, I'll get Midge to do it for me!