Weeknight Laundry

I had social invitations last night, but I had to turn all of them down. Why, you ask, would I do such a thing? Well, the answer is simple: weeknight laundry. But let me start at the beginning.

About a year ago, inspired by Dakota Fanning's performance in The Runaways and spurred on by a super-hipster coworker, I purchased a flight suit. I think you know the kind I'm talking about: one piece, top and bottom, zippers and pockets everywhere. Yeah, I bought one of those. I bought a tan-colored standard issue coverall flight suit from some veterans at a street fair in Astoria. It was only $20, so I was getting a deal for such a trendy item. And I got a green one for the hipster, too. She loved it.

Well, since that day, the flight suit has been enjoying a comfortable life, free of worry, in my double-doored closet. It's been hanging out with that short, black, backless velvet number I got for free from work when I was 23 that doesn't fit over my hips anymore and that weird long button down they used to call a "boyfriend shirt" that really looks more like a bizarre kaftan than anything else. But when I woke up on Tuesday morning, I realized I had no clean pants, and due to my pop tart habit, most of my other clothes didn't fit. So, I thought, this was a perfect day for the flight suit. "It's, sort of...editorial," I thought.

So, I took that bad boy off the hanger, put on a low necked white tank top, a gold chain charm necklace, and slipped into my pants and jacket all at the same time. But when I looked at it, something was wrong. The sleeves. It must be the sleeves. So, I unzipped the top but left the pants on, and just cut those sleeves off above the zipper and rolled them so no one could see the raw hem. What a quick and clever fix! Now, sure I was looking like a fashionista from the pages of Nylon (let's be honest...probably not Vogue), I headed off to work where I am, after all, a fashion designer.

But as the day wore on, I started to realize maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, and for the following reasons:

1. The flight suit is Khaki:
          Helena Hwang, a former manager of mine, once told me khaki wasn't my best color without my asking for her opinion. While it was a rude comment, she was right. My skin is too close to that color, and it's just light enough to make my hair look unflatteringly dark. And also, somehow it makes my face look fat.

2. I didn't know what shoes to wear:
          We all know shoes can make or break an outfit. Unfortunately it was too cold for any kind of sandal, so I went with my navy blue lace up Vans. This didn't help my outfit's efforts to say, " I am not an escaped convict."

3. The suit was made for a man:
          While on some women a man's clothes can be a great look, my body is such that men's clothing makes me look like a little boy smuggling potatoes in inopportune places about his person.

4. It has elastic at the ankles:
          Now, I am a big fan of the elastic-ankled sweat pants, so I was appalled when, at the end of the day, I caught a sideways glimpse of what looked like a short, pudgy stack of toasted marshmallows walking down 35th street to catch the M train. Oh wait, that was just me.

5. Lastly, it was hot.
          I wont' bore you with the sweaty details here, but I was increasingly tempted to use all those convenient zippers that don't lead to pockets.

When I came home from work, I peeled that thing right off. It might have been a great look for Dakota Fanning and Cherie Currie, but it did not make me feel like a cherry bomb. So, I was a responsible adult and did my laundry last night because heaven forbid I have another travesty like that one.

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