I Lost the Battle but I Won the War
Um, so, apparently I still don't know how to dress myself.
I don't speak regarding my fashion sense (do clunky, comfy shoes and faded slacks = business casual? Must inquire...), but my ability to physically clothe myself.
So, I own four shirts (not total) of the same basic design: a thin, light shell of fabric, with a thin tanktop with adjustable straps. The straps are attatched to the shoulders of the shirt.
I think that, in theory, this is so that a) you never lose the pieces, and b) to ensure that it is worn correctly.
However, none of these shirts bear the warning "dry clean only," meaning I wash them in the washing machine, then hang them to dry.
Therefore, due to the frantic spinning and swishing of the washer, the shirt turns inside out, through a sleeve and inside the collar.
This morning I spent two minutes getting dressed because I was running late. Morning is lame, I hate it, so I avoid getting up until I end up rushing around.
So when I got to work, I noticed my shirt felt strange. I looked in to see that my tank was facing the wrong way, meaning that the low back of the tank top was sitting under my bra.
The overshirt isn't very revealing and is fairly dark in the front, so no big deal.
But as today wore on, it became increasingly frustrating. So I went in to the bathroom and stood inside the large bathroom stall, attempting to make sure that both shirts were right side out, facing found. I didn't work. For fifteen minutes I stood in that stall, cursing and struggling with my nemisis. Then Tana, one of the younger ladies here, came in and got worried, asking if I was okay. I explained it to her and she started laughing at me. Finally, I asked her to get me a pair of scissors, although now I do wish I'd commanded her with words like "Wench, fetch me some scissors!" Because that is how I roll.
So, in the end, as Tana stood in the bathroom laughing at me, I stood wearing the tank top, the other shirt hanging off while I cut the threads connecting the two shirts.
All in all, the war lasted fifteen to twenty minutes, and I lost the battle, but I won the war.
Stupid shirts...
And I pity you if you actually subjected yourself to all this dribble. I should delete this entry, yet I find myself amused at my idiotic complaints...
I don't speak regarding my fashion sense (do clunky, comfy shoes and faded slacks = business casual? Must inquire...), but my ability to physically clothe myself.
So, I own four shirts (not total) of the same basic design: a thin, light shell of fabric, with a thin tanktop with adjustable straps. The straps are attatched to the shoulders of the shirt.
I think that, in theory, this is so that a) you never lose the pieces, and b) to ensure that it is worn correctly.
However, none of these shirts bear the warning "dry clean only," meaning I wash them in the washing machine, then hang them to dry.
Therefore, due to the frantic spinning and swishing of the washer, the shirt turns inside out, through a sleeve and inside the collar.
This morning I spent two minutes getting dressed because I was running late. Morning is lame, I hate it, so I avoid getting up until I end up rushing around.
So when I got to work, I noticed my shirt felt strange. I looked in to see that my tank was facing the wrong way, meaning that the low back of the tank top was sitting under my bra.
The overshirt isn't very revealing and is fairly dark in the front, so no big deal.
But as today wore on, it became increasingly frustrating. So I went in to the bathroom and stood inside the large bathroom stall, attempting to make sure that both shirts were right side out, facing found. I didn't work. For fifteen minutes I stood in that stall, cursing and struggling with my nemisis. Then Tana, one of the younger ladies here, came in and got worried, asking if I was okay. I explained it to her and she started laughing at me. Finally, I asked her to get me a pair of scissors, although now I do wish I'd commanded her with words like "Wench, fetch me some scissors!" Because that is how I roll.
So, in the end, as Tana stood in the bathroom laughing at me, I stood wearing the tank top, the other shirt hanging off while I cut the threads connecting the two shirts.
All in all, the war lasted fifteen to twenty minutes, and I lost the battle, but I won the war.
Stupid shirts...
And I pity you if you actually subjected yourself to all this dribble. I should delete this entry, yet I find myself amused at my idiotic complaints...