I figured out another reason for my incurable singleness tonight as I walked to the movie theatre to take in a 7pm showing of Narnia
. Here it is:
I am a bad dresser.
Since early years, dressing with anything remotely approaching a "style" has been a challenge for me. I found a photo of me once, at Disneyland a hundred years ago when I was a child, and I am wearing a brown and orange horizontally striped shirt with an applique owl where my left breast would have been (if I had had breasts, which I didn't because of being about five), and these yellow corduroy pants with baskets of strawberries in a repeating pattern all over them.
To say that my attire was aesthetically insulting is an understatement.
I recall being utterly aghast when I saw that photo, and asking my mother, "How could you let me go out of the house wearing such a terrible outfit, where I could be seen by actual people? In public?!" To which she shrugged and replied (I kid you not), "That's what you wanted to wear."
Oh did I. Hmmm, since when do parents actually let you do what you want to do? I mean, what if I had wanted to wear coconuts and a grass skirt, would she have let me out of the house in that?!
I think not.
The point being, when I was younger I was not what you would call "fashion savvy." And I am apparently still not. Here is what I wore tonight to the movies (remember, this is SATURDAY NIGHT, out on the town!):
1) Old gray high school sweatshirt that I found in my brother's old dresser.
2) Yellow sweatpants (pretty bright yellow, actually)
3) A tan knit beanie with an orangish and a blueish stripe (and yes, I realize that nothing is really "matching" so far).
4) Dark gray trail running shoes.
I know what you must be thinking, because I am thinking the same thing, namely, what is the deal with me and yellow pants?! Well, I don't know the answer, any more than I know the airspeed velocity of an African swallow, but I do
know that something good came of my fashion handicap tonight. No, I did not find a husband (helloooo, bad dresser, remember?), but I did
get a student discount at the movie theatre. I didn't even have to lie, because the girl charging me didn't ask. I guess the high school sweatshirt was all she needed to see.
I don't know whether to be flattered that at the age of 30, I can apparently pass for a teenager, or discouraged that at the age of 30, I do not give the impression of being a grown woman. Even though I now have breasts.
Well, I could go on (and on and on) with countless examples of my sartorial misadventures, but I will spare you. The simple fact that there are
so many examples I could draw on is evidence enough to support my final conclusion: If anyone is ever going to fall in love with me, it will have to be because of my amazing br...I mean, personality.
At any rate, I'm pretty confident that it won't be because of the yellow pants.