I am stuck in wardrobe purgatory. It’s this horrible, horrible place between summer and fall that literally brings me to my knees praying to the fashion Gods to make it rain cooler temps.
But are my knees covered in pants or am I still wearing shorts? I just don’t know. The only thing I know for damn sure is that whatever I am wearing, it won’t be white. That ship has sailed people. Literally. Summer is ova. Time for all of your white handbags, pumps, and belts to hibernate for the winter.
Much like Dolly Parton’s mother taught her to always wear lycra on her thighs, my mom taught me there was no white after Labor Day. And I saw the movie Serial Mom as a kid and it really struck a chord with me. Fashion has changed. No, no it hasn’t.
Every morning I’m torn. I stand in front of my closet. Just staring. I don’t know what to do. I have so many cute clothes. Warm breathable clothes. Clothes that won’t suffocate me in this weather. But that’s not what I want.
There are shorts. Capris. Dresses. And all of those adorable open-toed shoes and sandals. Do I need to get another pedicure? Regardless of the date on the calendar the answer is yes. The answer is always yes.
But I’m over it. I need fall to be here in it’s all forgiving wraps and sweater glory. I want to wear a jean jacket over that shirt to hide the poor decisions I may have made the night before.
I long to wear my daily momiform. My skinny jeans and knee high riding boots (if it’s raining, I’ll be wearing Hunters, naturally). With a thin sweater wrapped in a puffy North Face vest. Which, by the way, has absolutely no weather shielding value whatsoever, yet it’s a staple in my closet.
I really hope Mother freaking Nature is reading this. It’s time. Time to turn it down a notch. Time for pumpkin spice lattes. Time for the leaves to change. Time for a nice apple crisp served a la mode. Time for soup. Lots of hearty cream based soups.
And it’s time for me to break out my ponchos. To hide all of my end of summer indiscretions. And pair them with a nice fat pair of leggings. The way clothes were meant to be worn.
There are no bathing suits in the Fall. There is no sweating your ass off from just walking out to get the mail in the fall. It’s this magical time of year that lasts about three weeks. And you know for damn sure I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it by wearing a different scarf every damn day.
But the thing I’m looking forward to the most is the red wine. I like to change things up once that temp drops. Time to switch my pinot from grigio to noir. Because like my mom always said, no white after Labor Day.
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