Shopping, phase one.
Kate is attempting to get me ready for New York City. This involves, tragically enough, Dressing Like A Human. Now, my wardrobe consists of three basic modes: 'I own more T-shirts than any single woman ever needs,' 'the zombie apocalypse is coming, and I plan to have front row seating,' and 'Marilyn Munster asks me for fashion tips.' I have been assured that none of these is actually suitable for a New York business setting, even when your business is publishing and the people you're dealing with are used to the fact that they work with authors.
Yesterday's trip was an exercise in the word 'no.' From Kate, I got 'no, you can't wear that, it's synthetic'; 'no, you can't wear that, it has no sleeves'; 'no, you can't wear that, it makes you look like a barge.' From me, we got 'no, I won't wear that'; 'no, I will not wear that either'; 'no, I don't want to wear a jacket'; 'no, I refuse to wear heels when I don't know how much walking I'm going to do.'
It is honestly a miracle that both of us walked away from yesterday alive.
(This makes it sound much more unpleasant than it was. Kate is very patient with my ignorance of many aspects of living like a grownup, and I'm generally willing to take correction, as long as the rules make sense. The issue here is that the rules of the fashion world don't make sense, and there are a whole lot of them. I swear, I'm just going to wind up wearing my Marilyn Munster-meets-Elle Woods pink dress, curling my hair, and singing 'I Am So Much Better Than Before' on a street corner somewhere until somebody makes me stop.)
We're planning to hit the mall on Sunday, which will hopefully end with something other than Kate dragging me off to food because I look like I'm about to gnaw my own leg off. At the hip. New York draws closer, and they don't let you fly naked!
Yesterday's trip was an exercise in the word 'no.' From Kate, I got 'no, you can't wear that, it's synthetic'; 'no, you can't wear that, it has no sleeves'; 'no, you can't wear that, it makes you look like a barge.' From me, we got 'no, I won't wear that'; 'no, I will not wear that either'; 'no, I don't want to wear a jacket'; 'no, I refuse to wear heels when I don't know how much walking I'm going to do.'
It is honestly a miracle that both of us walked away from yesterday alive.
(This makes it sound much more unpleasant than it was. Kate is very patient with my ignorance of many aspects of living like a grownup, and I'm generally willing to take correction, as long as the rules make sense. The issue here is that the rules of the fashion world don't make sense, and there are a whole lot of them. I swear, I'm just going to wind up wearing my Marilyn Munster-meets-Elle Woods pink dress, curling my hair, and singing 'I Am So Much Better Than Before' on a street corner somewhere until somebody makes me stop.)
We're planning to hit the mall on Sunday, which will hopefully end with something other than Kate dragging me off to food because I look like I'm about to gnaw my own leg off. At the hip. New York draws closer, and they don't let you fly naked!