The thing I fear most in the world this week is dying in a horrendous car crash, the kind with sparks and fires and explosions, where they need to send in the Jaws of Life to extract my mangled corpse from underneath the chassis of a giant 18-wheeler, and when the EMT's examine me they make The Face, all sad and pitiful, because they discover that I have been cursed to spend all of my afterlife in an outfit where all the components don't match because I neglected that morning to coordinate my ponytail holder with my top with my bra with my pants with my underwear with my socks with my shoes.
Because, listen: I'm going to Hell anyway, and I can handle the gamblers and the drunks and the fornicators -- who knows, that might even be kind of fun -- but I don't want to spend eternity with the Fashion Victims, the inappropriately accessorized, the godless hussies who left the house with VPL and their bra straps showing and who wore white shoes after Labor Day.
It's a running gag at work and at home, but I am a human Garanimal. As much as possible, I try to arrange my outfit for the next day before I go to bed, so I have time to do a quick load of socks or underwear if necessary. You know, so I have just the right match. And even if I ever go mysteriously colorblind, I'd still be able to match stuff, because I coordinate down to the pattern on my hosiery. It's a sickness, no doubt.
Which is why it pains me to my core when we have "Wacky Wednesdays" at school, and I have to send Cupcake out into public wearing something like this:
it makes me want to crawl in a hole and die. Who does that to a child? That is so wrong. Do day cares not believe in the Constitution? Because that is definitely cruel and unusual punishment. Inflicted upon her by her very own mother.
I mean, she totally rocks that shirt from the Nashville Zoo (hello to Johnny Bacon and Co., in lovely Union City, TN!). And those Winnie-the-Pooh Croc loaferlets? Adorable. The leggings were bought special just for Wacky Wednesday, AND they were only $3.50, so I can't even complain about them, but ... isn't it a little much? The green barette just about gave me a stroke, even though I put it there.
On the other hand: individually, each of those pieces is awesome. And she? Totally does not care. Perhaps Mommy needs a drink.