Despite my fashion pact with the Devil & buckets of bleach I don’t know my Prada from my pratt. Yes, my blurry idea of style is a
baggy pair of off-brand khakis, a pit-stained polo, and socks where the holes
don’t show. In my life, I’m not sure when exactly it was that I turned a blind
backside to designer duds, but it was probably when I was a mere pup and the
only ‘OshKosh B’gosh?!!’ to be reckoned with was a coating on the INSIDE of my
diaper.
I’m not entirely without pride however, so you will
not see me on some street corner ‘rolling’ my inebriated brethren for their
last pair of tie-dyed tighty-whitey head scarves. No I get my booty armor from
Goody-will and the Salivation Army’s finest 79 cents per pound bins. You know,
that’s the stuff with the designer label named after my lower intestine - ‘Slightly
Irregular’, featuring fashion forward offerings from the ‘Where’s Waldo’ clothing
line.
The other thing I just noticed is that I indeed not
only wear the pants n’ girdles in the family during the day but I obviously
sleep in them too. Recently I found myself at a beach so I succumbed to donning
a pair of clown-colored surfer shorts. I can assure you that bird-blinding white-hot
glare was not originating from the sun, but was actually from those tan-less ham
hocks I strut around on all day. Who knew that there really is something in the
universe more Lilly white than an innocent child’s vanilla milkshake in a
snowstorm?
Ok, despite my face being ‘wanted’ in every post
office in America, maybe I’m not really the popular poster-dope of high fashion
and tawny good looks like those market magazine supermodels? It’s true, I don’t
always put my best foot forward and typically save my high heel strutting and
barely-there bikini time for only ‘special’ occasions. Oh I know that seems
like an obvious and unbelievable lie … since so many people copy my TRUE
fashion ‘cents’ and dress daily in the same casual ‘crud-wear’ that I do!
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