I could buy tops till the cows come home. If I were buying things, that is. Actually, last night I dreamed about a cow coming home. In said dream, I went to pick up my pet cow from the vet. She was as wide and well-stuffed as a sofa. I wondered if I should ride her home but decided against it on the grounds that I didn’t know how she would behave in traffic.
Anyway.
Bottoms are a different story, especially trousers. So hard to get the right fit! And when oh when will harem pants go away? Not for some time, I fear: Topshop and Marks and Sparks just showed next year’s collections to the press, and M&S is banking on “the new pyjama pant” being the next big thing. How does it differ from the plain old pyjama pant? Well, I bet it will cost a lot more. The best solution might be just to stop getting dressed. Or, better yet, stop getting out of bed.
harem scare 'em
J. Crew recently told me that if I thought I couldn’t “do skinny,” I might be mistaken. So I went into the Time Warner Center store to test this hypothesis. I tried on a pair of ankle stretch toothpicks, which sounds like a form of torture for mice but translates as short, stretchy, and tight.
mouse torture instruments
Surprise: there is some truth in advertising. I thought I couldn’t do skinny, and there I was, doing skinny! Bigger surprise: they only looked good from the calf up. I guess I can do skinny but I can’t do short. They would probably look SUPER HOT with preposterous heels. And a white ribbed tank top, dark roots, crumbling trailer in the b.g., loser boyfriend named Darryl Wayne a blur on the horizon as he makes off with my welfare check in his beat-up Mustang.
Dang, I shoulda bought them jeans!