If I had a choice I would wear a white, v-neck t-shirt, with jeans and green sneakers all the time. To dinner. To work. To jury duty. In the case of a wedding or funeral, I would throw on a hat to classy-up the outfit. But, the core combination would remain as: t-shirt, jeans and very loud footwear.
Obviously, I have more outfits than this, as I hold a 9-5 job and a mother that nags relentlessly about the importance of a diverse wardrobe. So, very often, I conform to these societal pressures. But, at the same rate that I venture outside of my favorite outfit, I have serious wardrobe malfunctions.
Case in point was the time I wore a long and colorful peasant skirt to a dinner party. Everything was going so well until we moved the soiree to the upstairs bar. In my ascent, I caught the front of my skirt on the first step, but I didn’t notice until my third step when the skirt’s elastic waistband was securing my thighs. There wasn’t enough vodka at the bar to erase the visual of me in a potato sack race by myself as I struggled to cover my lady parts. This never would’ve happened if I was wearing my jeans.
Oh, and then there was the time I was wearing a full pantsuit, with one of those super fancy jackets that don’t require an undershirt, waiting to meet some very important people in a swanky reception area. Out of nerves, boredom and, most likely, separation anxiety from my t-shirt, I decided to do some stretches. But, instead of loosening up my muscles, I just ended up popping out of the jacket á la Incredible Hulk. Of course this happened as I was being summoned into my meeting.
My worst wardrobe mishaps, however, always have to do with my footwear. I’ve broken heels in both in sidewalk cracks and doorways on more than one occasion. Even the most benign shoe has blistered and sliced my feet to look like Jesus’ on his way to Golgotha. I earned a rousing round of applause when I ended up in a perfect split in the middle of a business lunch I hosted when I slid out of my adorable ankle strap sandals. As far as I’m concerned, any pair of shoes that are not my super-green, super-stinky Saucony’s are dangerous. Potentially fatal, even. Which is why, when no one is looking, I take off my shoes. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a pata sucia walking barefoot on the sidewalk or dancing at a club. That’s just gross. However, in my house, on a plane, in the car, and, especially, at work, I quietly remove my shoes for added comfort.
Otherwise, I’m Agador Spartacus from “The Birdcage.”
Upon my second week at my new job, and having my own office, I felt safe to remove my fancy heels and let my toes breathe, safely under my desk. And, right when I was the most comfortable and concentrated on my work, the CEO walked in to meet me. This is exactly what transpired:
This would’ve never happened if I had on my green sneakers.