i am capable of wrong, too...i think...

Just as I've been growing increasingly ambivalent toward the inexhaustible goblet that is DC, I've also lost my will to dress myself creatively.

Seriously, this ensemble, which I wore yesterday, is objectively pretty boring, especially compared to such glorious get-ups as this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this and, of course, um, this. Weirdly, though, a strange thing happened yesterday. While my objectively awesome outfits of yore rarely garnered an iota of positive feedback, the yawn-worthy dirty laundry that I threw on haphazardly yesterday made me feel like I was ready to attend fashion week. 

Inexplicably, people loved my shoes, my shorts, my shirt, my bra straps! Well, maybe not that last one, but you get the idea. I must admit though, I'm not sure if I should be flattered. I mean, it's laughably boring and, for Bali's sake, my bra strap's were showing! After returning home from my quest to procure a $5 $6 footlong I looked in the mirror and just started laughing at myself. DC was totally f*cking with me!

Not only is this get-up boring, but the shirt makes me look like a pear, the shorts truncate my legs and the coordination is horrible -- I failed to fully incorporate the color palette of gray-brown-black with appropriate accessories. A black scarf would be perfect, but in heat like this I'd step outside and probably tie it in a noose. In short, I looked a bit of a hot mess, which may explain why the woman who most fervently admired my ensemble was wearing flip-flops, sweatpants and looked entirely too much like Grimace. It doesn't take much to impress Grimace.

But Ronald-McDonaldland evil-milkshake-stealer-turned-lovable-anthropomorphic-sidekick or not, at least this woman appreciated my non-efforts. 

However, not everyone felt the same way. One woman went out of her way to tell me so. But to my surprise, instead of focusing on the menagerie of things I described above, this woman insulted my shoes, which are, in my opinion, the only aspect of this faulty ensemble that actually works. 

Alas, I guess one woman's sandal-booties, are another woman's Crocs...

Misplaced shoe scurrility aside though, the fact that so many other people (and by that I mean four, including Grimace) really liked my lackluster outfit, made me wonder, "What the hell?"

 

Honestly, I'm not quite sure what this all says about DC. Am I that stellar of a dresser that I can grab whatever's closest to me at the time and still out-style the common DC woman? Although wait...hold on...what's that on my leg? 

In the course of my grainy pseudo-photog skills I had forgotten about the second-degree leg burn I incurred the other day while defending my visage. My helper horse Sven threw a flaming bag of his own poo at me after a heated (literally) argument over the electricity bill. Thankfully, my roundhouse kicking skills are top-notch and I was able to protect my face from the flaming doo-doo. My poor leg, however...ouch. 

And while the picture doesn't really do justice to the giant red, bubbly charred swatches of epidermis on my calf right now, I'm pretty sure I now understand why almost everyone was so complimentary. They were just trying to make a burn victim feel better.

Thank you, Grimace, but a milkshake would've been better...