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!