Thursday is Kick-a-fashion-designer Day!
Isn't it? Well, if it's not, it should be!
You may have deduced by now that I went shopping yesterday. What with the Christmas cookies, the holster, and Steve's book, my wardrobe's been a bit snug. So off I go . . .
I hate shopping for clothes. Have you seen the crap they expect women to wear? Stretchy, tight, no pockets, itchy-scratchy man-made material that doesn't breathe ... FAUGH!! Would you wear it? No, of course not. No sane person would. The blouses are as bad - stretchy, clingy, airless and impractical. Jiminy!
Have you eyeballed the few woman who are actually wearing these clothes? Maybe one in 53 can pull it off - maybe. The 1st thing I notice on these poor, misguided souls is their bad posture. Ladies, if you're going to show everything that the Good Lord gave you, at least stand up straight and suck in that gut.
So, okay, I'm no fashion queen. I do things - you can't do things and wear useless, airless, pocketless clothes. & yes, I'm pudgy. There are times when it's more merciful to conceal than to reveal and, well - 'nuff said.
Anyway, I decided cross-dressing was the way to go. I went to the men's department for some sensible apparel. Found some jeans or khakis or whatever they are with lots of pockets!! But even then, they're kind of weird. They're whaddayacallem pants - parachute pants? They have big pockets on the leg. They also have long strings hanging off the pockets and I can't for the life of me figure out what they're supposed to be for. To strap down your six-gun? In case you want to be tied to the bedpost fully clothed?
Well, I tied them into pretty little bows, added that feminine touch doncha know. I suppose I'll just cut them off but I would like to know their purpose.
What drugs are fashion designers on? or are they just passive-aggressive haters of the human race?
Anyway, if you see a fashion designer, spit in their eye and tell 'em Persnickety sent ya.
P.S. Not that this has anything to do with the price of tea in China, but this is why I find male cross-dressers so strange. Why, o why, would anyone voluntarily submit themselves to the torture of heels, itchiness, eye-watering hairspray and the whole nine yards, when society not only doesn't demand it of the male, but actually frowns on it a bit? What else do cross-dressers do for fun? Stick themselves under the toenail with an icepick?
Yet another aspect of life that is completely over my head, I guess.
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