My camera is acting a fool. I know how patiently you wait for these Wardrobe Malfunction Tuesday posts and not wanting to disappoint you, I took a video instead. I hope it will provide ample evidence, on this sweet Tuesday, that it is indeed a malfunction piece (or pair, as it were) in my wardrobe. I chose shoes, by the way. Without more jibber-jabber, I present for your watching enjoyment: My Fugly Shoes.

The No-Good, Very-Bad, Awful, Ugly Shoes from Magic Mom on Vimeo.

Cripes! Are those ever ugly?! Anyway…
I have a mammoth shoe collection. And, you would know by now if you’ve been paying attention, that not all of these shoes are gems in my wardrobe. On no. I keep every sad foot covering that has ever graced my pretty, little peepers. Oh wait! I should actually tell you about my Foot Anorexia! It’s really pathetic sad! You see, I have fairly small feet. Not freakishly so, but just small enough that people often say, “Oh my! I can’t borrow your shoes! Your feet are too tiny!” When people make these exclamations, I feel proud. Yup, proud. For years I walked around in fear of growing big, old, boat feet and in an effort to keep nature from taking its course, I wore shoes that were a size and a half too small. I didn’t want my feet to appear too large. I was hardly in danger of this, however, because my actual shoe size is a six. A six! That’s not large at all! But I’d rather hobble around on too small shoes than risk looking like I’m walking around with cinder blocks attached to my feet. See? This is Foot Anorexia. I’ve only very recently (sort-of) outgrown this ridiculous problem.

And these sad dogs are from the Foot Anorexia Era. Can’t you tell? They sort of look like doll shoes. And those way cool dinosaur laces don’t help much. Granted, I was about 19 when I wore these sneakers and, clearly, I was still straddling the fence of Not a Girl But Not Yet a Woman. With child-like dinosaur laces, I was somehow trying to reconcile my immature nature with the ginormous boobs I sprouted at 19 because I was a late bloomer. Wearing these shoes, was akin to wearing a billboard down Main Street with my mental problems painted on it– a therapist’s wet dream.

I’m not sure I even need to address how broken down these puppies are. I mean, we all see the cracks, rips, tears, and missing pieces, right? What would possess me to keep these shoes well past their Use By date, I really have no clue. Indubitably, they aren’t even fashionable and I’m not sure they ever were. They look like a throwback to a bygone era (like the 70’s), that should stay good and by gone, dammit. I easily have 400 other pairs of sneakers in my closet, but when asked if I was (by chance) throwing them out when I took them out of the closet for their premiere video, I said, “Oh hell no!” Was she suggesting they were garbage? OH NO WAY!

Here’s hoping I never dare to put these sneakers on my feet. Ever, ever again. Unless it’s Halloween and I’m going as a Homeless Person. Then it might be okay.

So, let’s just say, hypothetically and all, that I’m headed to an afternoon high tea get-together. Then I might need something stylish and subdued, flirty yet elegant, colorful but not bright. Classy! That would be what I might want. You know, if I were going. If I were going to such an affair then, I definitely wouldn’t want something handmade, or revealing, or trampy, or too obvious. Most assuredly, I would not want this:

What’s with me and crochet? I don’t have any particular affinity for it, but, man oh geez, do I have a lot of this knitted specialty. Also? Pink? Now, it used to be my favorite color. One might say, I used to be a skosh obsessed with the color, but then I realized it wasn’t at all unique to like pink. Generally, hearts like pink, Valentine’s has laid claim to the color, and most girls are friendly with it as well. So I changed! Now I’m a Big Fan of Turquoise and Red. It’s lovely. I don’t know– it just IS. But, I digress.

Also, notice the slight difference in tone between the top and the bottom. See it? It’s there! I promise it is. It’s just enough to be obvious. And it’s annoying. It’s also fashionless, ugly, holey, and weird, but I’m only addressing the color change between the top and skirt right now.

And what might one wear UNDERNEATH the sweater? Obviously whatever it is had better be pretty to make up for all that pink ugliness. Seriously? This outfit is altogether too busy. It gives me a headache. And really? There aren’t ENOUGH words to talk about how hideous this is. Let’s just forget it, shall we?

Looking for a laugh this Saturday? The look no further, as I have something that I promise will provide the giggles. Ha Ha

I don’t have much to say today, but was feeling the need to write. After a quick glance through my Drafts, I realized I had the perfect material right in front of me. I spend most of my day repeating mundane tasks: changing dirty diapers, nursing, making baby food, helping with homework, racing cars around the house. Riveting stuff, really. A good portion, if not all, of this time is spent tripping out on my own thoughts. Trust me, my mind is like a dangerous neighborhood: always bring a friend and some pepper spray. Occasionally inspiration will hit and I will save a post title with a few, short, descriptive words to remind myself what I wanted to write. I almost always forget what the hell I was talking about. Thus, my Drafts Folder reads like the thoughts in a crazy person’s head. (Hmm. Well, that explains it.)

Hole In The Pants For Him
What hole? Whose pants? His pants? His pants have no fracking hole!

Things I Am Thinking About
Um, I think I’d rather not know. Also? I think we all know how that turned out.

Baby Moo: Month 6
I know! I’m a little bit late. Whoops!

Something Fishy
I’m guessing that would be our dearly departed fish friends, Sonny and Crockett. But! Who knows!?! I might have been referring to the time Baby Moo pooped and it missed the diaper and slid out the side and landed on the floor! How do these things happen? I also might have been wondering who was the genius going around stealing tires off of cars in our development. I opened the front door to take Bugsy to school and was met by our Acura up on cinder blocks. Awesome!

Slippers
Oh, wait! That is a good one. I’m saving that for later.

No Title
But I did write something! It starts off, “Growing up in my house. . .” Growing up in my house, WHAT? It was crazy? We had fun? I have two sisters that no longer speak to me? WHAT?? Was I about to regale you with the time I sent my father to the E.R. when he was about to spank me? Oh! A real knee slapper! Or was I going to tell you about the time the police brought me home, drunk (me, not the police), on Thanksgiving break? WHEN I WAS IN EIGHTH GRADE! Good times! Who knows, but I bet it was a really juicy tale.

Three Purple Socks
Huh? I have NO CLUE. Clearly, my ever helpful titles aren’t ever really helping me to remember whatever it is that I wanted to write about. I once knit a sock. One sock. And it was kind of purple in color. But I definitely didn’t knit more than one, so obviously I didn’t knit three.

Ba-Dum-Shee
Apparently I was about to tell a joke. Although I now can’t remember what joke that was because I KNOW NO JOKES. So whatever. On second thought, perhaps I was going to relate something that recently happened. I might just be the clumsiest person alive, so a lot of mishaps go on throughout the day. I tripped and fell down the stairs yesterday, I rolled off the bed the other morning, I was trying on a pair of my Jimmy Choo stilettos when the heel got caught up on the rug and I took a tumble, and I nearly broke my ankle trying to maneuver a nursing baby and myself up ONTO the bed and OVER the guard rail last night. I have no excuse, other than standing vertical is clearly a challenge and throws me all out of sorts.

And that concludes our walk through my brain Drafts Folder. I now know I need to write a short blurb before I hit save to give myself a few more clues as to what I was thinking. Because if these titles are anything to go by, clearly I’m cross-eyed crazy clueless.

I can hardly believe another week has passed. Christmas is looming ever closer and I’m beginning to start the Holiday Meltdown. Seeing as how it is the Holiday Season and all, it would be easy to see how I might use this time of year to my advantage and exhibit my more unfortunate seasonal sweaters and Christmas Dinner gear. But! (And there is always one of those, isn’t there?) That would be child’s play! Too easily done and it would require nearly no effort on my part. Kicking around in the back of my closet are sweaters appliqued within inches of their lives with gingerbread men and jingle bells, dresses strangled with yards of lace, earrings and pins so merry they’ll make eyeballs bleed. So! I discarded all of those in favor of something much more offensive. At least all that Holiday Garb is supposed to be cheerful, but this is just downright unsightly.

I now present the World’s Ugliest Skirt:

For the moment let me ignore (if I can) the migraine inducing pattern, to focus on the basic cut and
silhouette of this atrocity. If I replaced the bright orange and yellow flowers with, say, something more elegant and sedate and replaced the heavy brocade-like fabric for something lighter and more flowey, IT WOULD STILL BE UGLY. The skirt sits on the natural waistline and would make someone like myself, with a long torso and short legs, look like a squat elf. The pleats only serve to add girth AND HIPAGE, revealing me to be not long and slender but PEAR SHAPED AND UGLY. So, right out the starting gate this piece of shit skirt sucks. There is NOTHING, short of finding a new skirt, to make this thing better.

Onto the print!

Someone lower the lights, hand me a wet washcloth for my forehead, and leave the Imitrax on my night stand. I need a minute. The old joke, “The 60’s called and they want their skirt back” couldn’t be more appropriate. I feel like I need to be riding around in a VW bus, daisy chain in my hair, smoking a joint for me to pull off this magic. Although the print really might be harshing on the group’s buzz, so even they might kick me to the curb.

The extra, triangle-shaped fabric draped from the top of the hanger is not a case of double vision. The designer of this skirt clearly loved the print so much, s/he thought the wearer might appreciate a rag one could fashion into a top. It’s obviously not big enough to be a scarf and it’s triangle-shaped, so it’s not right for a pashmina either. It is just perfect, however, to be tied into a top! Yay! I can almost hear the relief. For example if one wore the skirt on Monday, but didn’t have her fill of the ugly on Wednesday and needed more of this ghastly pattern there is a solution: she could wear the top! Squee! It’s like a party in pink, orange, and yellow fabric!

In the interest of not wanting to burn any more holes in any more retinas, I’ll leave with this final thought: If we’re having this much fun and it’s only the third Wardrobe Malfunction Tuesday, can you imagine how much more cuh-cuh-crazee it’s going to get? (Yikes. Me neither.)