So, today I flew off the handle and ordered an orange maxi dress because I’ve never HAD a maxi dress and when in St. Louis live like the St. Louisians do, which typically means just eating a Gus’ pretzel and washing it down with toasted ravioli and a Ted Drewes at the Cardinals game. An orange maxi dress doesn’t seem THAT far removed.
Shortly after I went all Hey Ho, Maxi Dress!, I continued to shop around, and I ALMOST got this skirt. Because it’s One Size Fits Most. Because I think I could wear it with a white t-shirt. Because it’s 1995 and my belly button is freshly pierced and my ankle is tattooed and wait a minute. That can’t be right.
I’ll stick with the maxi dress. (I hate the word Maxi. Years worth of unreliable feminine protection will do that to you.) I’ll step back from the hippie skirts. For now.
I once picked up the phone and some guy asked me what I was wearing and I said, “Byron?” and he said, “Yeah. It’s Byron.” and then we talked and talked for about twenty minutes because it had been a long time since I had spoken to Byron. As we spoke, it sort of started feeling like Byron wasn’t himself, so I decided to see if it really WAS Byron.
Me: How is Andy doing?
Byron: Oh, you know. Andy’s fine. Same old thing.
Me: WE DO NOT HAVE AN ANDY IN COMMON!!!
Byron: So, what are you wearing?
Me: SWEATPANTS AND A T-SHIRT GOODBYE!