Eleven more days
There’s something about wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt that makes me feel fabulous and not-myself, as though I were some 20-something chick on TV who regularly drinks tea and reads the paper at the kitchen table before heading out for yoga and a pedicure, or whatever it is 20-something chicks do nowadays.
Maybe it’s because I don’t often wear t-shirts, long-sleeved or short-. Blame my private-schooledness, perhaps, but I feel moderately uncomfortable wearing a t-shirt in public, like I’m walking around in my pajamas. If I ever do wear a t-shirt out of the house, it means I’m sick, sad, or preparing to get some serious work done that day*. The same goes for untailored pants.
Or maybe it’s because I associate the long-sleeves-and-leggings look with distance runners, by whom I am marvelously impressed. And while we’re listing random reactions I have to an article of clothing, I’ll also note that I can only wear long-sleeved t-shirts as second layers. Wearing something baggy without a fitted layer underneath makes me feel all nekkid. Hi, I’m strangely pre-occupied with my own clothing, for someone who has never cheerled**.
The puppies at Daily Puppy can’t hold a candle to my Sam-Sam, but they’re still worth a peek and an awwwwww.
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* When I have a big paper to write or project to finish that I intend to actually do, goddammit, I’ll put on clothes that don’t match, look ridiculous, or are excessively frumpy. Somehow this is a signal to myself that I’m in work-mode. This has always felt like an obvious thing to do, but it seems strange now that I think about it.
** Inventing past participles is fun and easy.
Tags: NaBloPoMo