I am no fashionista. I mean, yes. I did, in fact, show up to school this morning in out-right rumpled khakis and a shirt with not one, but four visible stains on it.

Now, in my defense, I'd forgotten to treat those stains in the laundry the other day. Completely forgot I'd slopped something on the shirt in the first place. So, in the laundry it went, and, well, the hope of the stains ever coming out now are pretty slim.

The rumpled khakis?

Totally did that on purpose!

My mother is horrified, I know, but I'm willing to take a bullet for that team because I woke up CONVINCED it was Friday, and I've been in a foul mood ever since I found out the truth.

Yet, even with those fashion guffaws, I absolutely DID NOT go out in public wearing too tight Hello Kitty pajama bottoms with a thong (I'm sorry you had to read that ... I know. Your delicate constitution and all), a too tight cami with black bra waaaay too visible underneath, and hot pink Crocs. I mean, at least, I didn't go out looking like that. And at least I didn't shove an ENTIRE Twinkie in my mouth while sporting that outfit ... and let the end dangle precariously out of my mouth as I clomped across the parking lot. I mean, at least I didn't do that!

Growing up, when we went Up North on vacation, my mother packed us our Going to Town clothes. She was all about play clothes and letting us get them as grubby as we wanted. However, when it was time to go into town, we were to clean up and get into our Town Clothes.

I vividly remember ruining more than one Town outfit, the most memorable being plunking my bony little butt smack dab in the MIDDLE of a gigantic pool of pine sap. That hot mess doesn't come out of clothes. I know this, because my mother spent the rest of her summer trying ... when she wasn't openly cursing my name.

Then there was the time that I decided to sit on the top of my dad's lawn mower ... in my Town clothes. Lawn mower oil and grease don't come out of Town clothes either. I know this ... because my mother spent that summer trying ... when she wasn't openly cursing my name.

Okay, so maybe I didn't go out in public in too-tight Hello Kitty jammie bottoms. My mother would throw this out there:

"No! But I was the one dragging the gangly, hair-full-of-rat's-nests kid around with the sap stuck to her butt. Same thing in my book!"


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