On Saturday, I will wing my way home to the Wild Wild West for a some quality time with the family. I was really looking forward to my post-Election/pre-Lame Duck respite, until I talked to my father.
Dad: It’s going to be below zero for most of next week. Welcome home!
Belle: Below zero?!? You do realize that I do not have clothes for this. I don’t even own a pair of pants. What in the name of Jack Freakin’ Frost am I suppose to wear?
Perhaps, if I wear every item of clothing that I own at one time, I might be able to keep my core temperature above 47 degrees. Which, incidentally, was the low temperature in D.C. today.
Dad: Don’t worry, I still have the Banana Coat. It will keep you toasty warm.
Belle: You’re not helping. Unless of course, you also have a mask that I can wear. We’ll just think of it as the fashion victim witness protection program.
Dad: I don’t know what you’re talking about, it’s a beautiful coat. I can’t help it that you have no taste.
Yes, a highlighter yellow ski coat is the epitome of style. Forget the fact that it makes me look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man joined the Ukrainian bobsled team. After all, belted peplums are all the rage for pear shaped girls like me.
My Dad has purposely held on to this monstrosity for 12 years (!!!) awaiting the sub-zero temperatures that would force me to wear it. But since I don’t want to freeze to death, I’ll be happy to set aside my self-respect aside and become a gigantic hypocrite. Perhaps, you can pick up a pair of black Uggs, a yellow Vera Bradley bag and an Ed Hardy tee shirt to go with it?
The shame…it burns.