6 of my Favorite, Most Unladylike Parts of Skirt Season

A photo exists of me at about age two playing in the snow. I am tiny, holding one of my signature Snow Babies (literally a squash-sized pile of snow. My sculpture skills improved with age to include more anatomically correct attributes, like a neck), wearing a bright purple jacket and snow pants with mittens that definitely extended beyond my fingers by about two inches. The picture is, in a word, adorable.

What makes it even more adorable is the evidence of one of my weirdest/most deep-seated quirks that still thoroughly defines me today. I was wrapped tighter than Randy in A Christmas Story ("I can't put my arms down!"), but sticking out from under my puffy coat was a little ruffly dress. As a toddler, I insisted on wearing a dress at all times, so a skirt peeking out from where it shouldn't be was nothing out of the ordinary.

 

I have almost recreated this look a million times this terrible winter. I like wearing sweaters and boots and earmuffs, but make obligatory small-talk with the meek finance guy in the break room and even he would blurt out, "I don't know how much more of this I can take!" Side note: this might also be the exact point that he's snapped. Make friends quick, he's going to set the building on fire. I still love dresses. Hiding my man calves under a layer of tights and dress pants (I don't fuck around) has been so depressing. They didn't deserve to be in leg jail! They want to breathe! I could be unknowingly developing cankles! This is torture, Mother Nature!

Needless to say, I've been desperate for Skirt Season. I realize that any man reading this just let out an appreciative, "Damn straight!" but I'm willing to bet we have different agendas.

For guys, Skirt Season means legs and possibly even some donk should a Marilyn moment occur.

For girls, it means an easy outfit that's cute and feminine.

For me, it means something much more inappropriate than that. Here are my six favorite, yet most unladylike aspects of Skirt Season:

1. Maxi dresses let you sit like a man: "Wanna come over and watch the game?" "Wanna go on a picnic at the park?" "Wanna watch a P90X DVD while we eat Doritos?" I would like to do all of those things very much, and I will do all of them sitting spread eagle. Know why? Because I can. Where mini's and midi's advertise your hoo-ha when you move your knee a quarter of an inch any which way, maxi's are the friend that says, "Let loose, girlfriend, I've literally got you covered" to which I reply, "I love you so much, Crotchless Yoga Pants."

2. Constant Air Conditioning: Remember when the picture of Fergie from The Black Eyed Peas surfaced where "it looked like" she had peed her pants, but she just said she was really sweaty? First of all, that was a lose-lose situation, amirite? Second, had she been wearing a skirt, her Londy Londy Londy would've kept its cool and/or she could've let the River Thames loose and no one would have been the wiser. I love the fact that while I'm twirling in a skirt, it appears as though I'm having fun and being dainty. Not the case. I am actively creating a breezy environment from the waist down. I am a human oscillating fan.

3. Jump out of bed ready for the day: As in, I could wear a casual dress all day Friday, get home late and get straight in my bed, wake up the next morning, and immediately walk out the door to meet a friend for brunch, and I would have been comfortably and appropriately dressed the entire time. It's hard enough for me to take my own shoes off before I tuck myself in for the night--completely change from one set of clothes to another? Child please. The dress accepts my laziness and celebrates it. You gotta love an article of clothing that will change its name to "nightgown" just to make you feel better about your life.

4. Feign interest: Sometimes, I go on dates with people I'm not the least bit interested in (yes, I'm the one they've warned you about). It's not for attention or because I like to toy with people's emotions, I would just rather have plans than not. Simple as that. Throw in free food and an awkward story to share later and I'll go out with just about anyone [hot]. Date night outfits can vary depending on my level of legitimate attraction towards a person, which can get tricky. How do I decide the difference between an "I like you!" outfit vs. an "I haven't been grocery shopping in a week so yeah let's go to California Pizza Kitchen" one? The great thing about dresses is that they do the work for you. My mind says, "Oh my God are we going to talk about your fucking triathlon training this entire dinner?" but my dress says, "That's so interesting! Tell me more about the difference between your off- and on-season caloric intake percentages!"

5. Food baby disguise: Fourth of July is my jam. Beer and grilled meat are the foundation of our beautiful country, therefore patriotism demands that we consume as many of each as we possibly can with a large group of friends and an arsenal of colorful explosives. Unfortunately, Old Glory can cloud your judgement and suddenly you've downed six hot dogs faster than Joey Chestnut. A crop top would totally bail on you in this situation but a sundress steps up to the plate and conceals your bump without restriction. Go grab yourself a slice of apple pie, Baberaham Lincoln, no one has to know.

6. WHAT IF SHE HAD BEEN WEARING PANTS:

 

Enough said.

 

 

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Kasually Kidnapped, Part 1

Yesterday's Sunday Funday turned into a hostage situation.

My friends and I were drinking brunch, and since I'm both a conservationist and a giver, I was foregoing the orange juice part of the mimosa equation so that everyone else could have some (I know, right? So selfless). We were having an awesome time when I noticed a group of visually appealing guys walk in.

Six mimosas glasses of champagne had inevitably given me a boost of confidence as well as a dire need to haul ass to the ladies', so I took the long route around to walk by this group and examine the prospects. There were five of them: Bradley Cooper, Stretch Armstrong, Sasquatch, NotMyType, and Gavin. I returned to our group to find that all the champagne was gone, so on to red wine we would go, which called for a trip to a bar and OH HOW CONVENIENT these boys were in a prime spot.

I was gunning for Bradley Cooper but unfortunately he was standoffish (such a waste of a good face) so I swiveled and met Gavin. He was a solid 7.5 to the 10 that Bradley had established, but at least he didn't have the lumberjack beard that Sasquatch was rocking and wasn't at eye level with me like Stretch Armstrong and his roided out biceps were, so he had earned five minutes of conversation.

In that span of time we somehow established the "We're dating" shtick, which seemed a lot more clever at the time. All of what you're about to read aside, the guy's kind of a genius, because this gave him the perfect segue into asking me on a coffee date right on the spot. We left brunch and started walking to a place down the street when things took a turn for the What The Actual Fuck.

As we walked, he started asking me about my past relationships. 'Taking this shoddy inside joke a little far, buddy,' I thought, but I just kind of glazed over it with some response about how all of my exes are now friends so I was pretty lucky. This did not satisfy him.

"You've clearly never had a real man show you what you deserved."
"Wait what?"
"If you'd ever dated a real man you would have been treated like a princess."
"Wait...what?"
"You'll see."

Yikes. I suddenly remembered that I don't even like coffee, but we were there, and I figured the sooner we got this done, the sooner I could say thanks and then go back to the comfort of my friends. Unfortunately the love life interrogation only intensified.

"Are you ready for a relationship right now?"
"I mean with the right person, yeah, but I'm not really-"
"I am very ready."
"Yeah?"
"Very ready."
"I believe you."
"Are we dating?"
"Haha."
"No seriously, are we dating?"
"Wait what?"

ABORT ABORT ABORT. The "where r u??" texts from my friends had started rolling in so I recommended that we start heading back, as pleasant as this experience had been. Gavin claimed he was now starving, and I had getting the sense that he wasn't one to get hangry, so I said we could grab something really quick at the place next door.

"But like, really quick, my friends are waiting."
"Are you one of those girls that doesn't eat?"
"Haha no I'm just not hungry right n-"
"Get something to eat, I hate girls that don't eat."
"I can and have demolished an entire veggie pizza by myself, man. I'm not in the mindset for that right now, I'm good."
"I'm taking you on a date, you should eat."
"OH MY GOD I'LL GET NACHOS."

Before I was just annoyed; now I was getting a little scared. This was like the opening sequence of Law and Order: SVU in so many ways, and Gavin was starting to strike me as someone who had an expansive collection of windchimes made out of ex-girlfriend's bones. Benson and Stabler, save me!

Throughout the meal, he continued to inform me that I had never been "treasured" by a "real man" and described all of the activities we would do together now that we were dating. These included going to wine tastings (he was a self-proclaimed connoisseur), joining a couples' flag football league, making me his amazing Stuffed Tilapia ("I'm not a huge seafood fan, actually." "You'll love this." "Allllrighty then."), and taking his puppy on walks. Yay. After the mention of each of these activites, he would ask, "We are dating, right?" and I just laughed nervously because it was my only defense.

We finished eating and I hightailed it for the door, wondering how I always seemed to get myself into these predicaments. It was getting dark, so Gavin called a cab because I apparently looked cold. He made sure I understood how chivalrous this was and how he was such a thoughtful boyfriend. Cabs move faster than feet--he could've called me a rickshaw and I would've been grateful. I made this quip; he did not find it amusing.

I reached for my phone to text my friends that I was coming back and could we please not mention what a dumbass I was when I realized that it was gone. My phone was not here.


[cont. to Part 2]

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