…and tomorrow I will tell Whoorl about my hair

“It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Susan is one of my very dear friends. She has many good qualities including getting up at 5 AM and having coffee ready and allowing me loll about in her living room for days on end while providing me with Sonic and white wine. Of course there are less superficial things but I will save those for another day. It is no secret that that woman can dress and will tell people how to dress and people search her out to get an honest opinion as to whether these shoes go with this skirt. And I’m sure she’ll be the first to tell someone that their boobs look smushed in that top. As that is her way.

The first time I went to her house though, I wore silver crocs. It wasn’t until much later when I pointed out the crocs that she said to me “Yeah, I wasn’t going to say anything…” her voice trailing off. I could tell form the look on her face that if I ever wore crocs in her presence again and I wasn’t wading in a pond, then she would tear my feet off with her bare hands. Sometimes she needn’t say much for one to understand that leaving the house like that, ever, is unacceptable. Point well taken. And so far I still have my feet.

For now. But here’s the part where she makes a special trip to New York just to remove them because of such offensive behavior:

Yesterday morning I was about to leave the house and it was raining. I was wearing a skirt, with Parisian tights and let me digress and say that if you ever go to Paris, get yourself some tights because they will change your life and you’ll start skipping and the Heavens will part because you will find what you’ve been missing for so long when it comes to fall and winter wardrobe. </digression> So, the skirt with black tights. I was wearing brown socks because I haven’t done laundry in like three weeks and no one ever sees my socks. The boots I had been planning to wear were at my office and they would complete the outfit but I needed something to wear to the office. My black crocheted Uggs were in the trunk of my car and I found myself on my hands and knees trying to find shoes to wear on the wet slushy streets. And lo I found some Birkenstocks! Birkenstocks I had long forgotten about. A March Madness Miracle!

When I put my look together, I saw this and immediately thought I MUST SHOW SUSAN:

She might die a little inside and she might kill me with her bare hands but I just HAD to show her that I walked out of the house, up the street, drove to Dunkin Donuts, got out of the car, waited around for some hashbrowns and coffee, drove to work, got out of the car, walked the 487 steps into my office building, waited around in the lobby for the elevator, and walked upstairs into my office with this offensive combination on. The entire time thinking of the number of occasions that will allow me to wear these shoes between now and Monday. My Easter outfit is bound to be these shoes and my black tights and nothing more for clearly, with my stupid boots with the god damn three inch heels, I’ve been missing out for several months. Thank God, Susan and I have such the friendship that even though I would rather look like hell than be uncomfortable, she pats me on the head, tells me about how awful it is, and loves me anyway. Or at least I hope.