Friday, March 11, 2011

Outfit Post: Thank you for being a friend

Like most women, I have given thorough and serious thought to the state of my closet should I get killed during the day. Say some moron cuts me off on the George Bush Turnpike (this is Texas, happy there's only one major roadway named after a member of the Bush family) and slams my truck into a guardrail, sending me flying through the windshield. Or I could get accidentally mowed over by a neighbor's hulking riding lawn mower, an instrument of noise so piercing I worry about both permanent hearing loss and carnage. Or a woman pushing a jogging stroller through the narrow aisles of Nordstrom runs over my big toe, causing me to back into a towering display of Gucci purses, which immediately topple and fall on my skull, crushing me with their heavy gold ostentatious hardware and fine Italian woven fabric, smothering me to death. What then? After the shocked states, the ambulance, the hospital, the funeral, the trays of casseroles and instant-diabetes desserts...

Back in my room, right at this moment, my bed is being swallowed by a mountainous pile of clothing - potential outfits for my trip to the Texas Style Council Conference (TxSCC) this afternoon. Abandoned hangers lie tangled together on the floor. The day I plunge off an highway overpass will in all likelihood be a day when my room looks exactly like it does now. Or the day before I need to do the laundry or the day I decided to clean out my closet, got bored or distracted halfway through, and decided to watch reality TV in my thrifted red  shiny western button-down instead. I have pictured the potentially cold manner my husband would discard the clothing and accessories in my closet, failing to realize just how valuable and cherished these items are. Like this sparkly vintage Golden Girls-esque bed jacket I'm wearing today. In his eye, it's an old musty jacket with missing sequins and bits of unraveling thread. My soul heaves when daydreaming about the heartless way he's bag my clothes up, tossing them nonchalantly into black Hefty bags, and hurling them into the nearest Goodwill drop-off bin.

However, I'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he'd be literally blinded by grief, choking back tears, too upset to go through the process of unloading my things. Or perhaps he's recognize their value and invite my friends to chose which items they'd take. "Packing up her closet is much too painful," he would tell them, courageously bearing the weight of his grief. "She'd want you to have that Forever 21 lace blouse, (sniff) those thrifted Paige jeans, (sob) and that 80's era prom dress." Surely they'd recognize the critical importance my wardrobe has on the world. 

And now I must banish these morbid thoughts from my head, and resume packing. If I'm going to plunge off a bridge in Austin, God knows I'll be the best-dressed accident victim out there. I'll be on break from blogging for the next few days, schmoozing with other fabulous fashion bloggers. Don't leave me, lovers...I'll be back with plenty of pics and gossip.

Vintage thrifted bed jacket; Forever 21 v-neck; Gap Outlet cargos; Stuart Weitzman wedges; Forever 21 feather rhinestone earrings

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