Running Hot and Cold and other Fashion Fun

It seems hubby and I are the proverbial Jack Sprat and his wife. Polar opposites in so many things. Temperature for one. The nights recently have been glorious. Mid-40's with a cool breeze. In my mind, perfect sleeping weather. I pull open both the windows and the curtains to catch the breeze and last night, that beautiful full moon. Although I slept so well for a change that I missed her late morning swing round to the eastern window.

Last night I put on some cotton capri p.j. bottoms and a cotton tank top and alternated between no covers and just the sheet and one blanket over the bottom of my legs when I got too cool, or when Miss Rosie needed a place to burrow. She gets very frustrated when there's no hobbit hole for her to disappear into. You should see her when I am sitting on the bed with my laptop and she wants to be under the covers under the warm laptop. If I don't rearrange my legs and a blanket or two, she'll shove herself directly under the laptop, which of course is then precariously doing a see saw dance atop a tiny chihuahua, Rosie glaring at me for forcing it to come to this.

Anyway, last night, I'm thinly dressed and sighing happily at the beautiful night and the breeze caressing my bare arms and legs. Not two feet away on the other side of the bed, hubby is wearing a pair of polar fleece p.j. bottoms, a t-shirt, a long sleeved shirt, a robe, a fleece nightcap, and is covered up with a flannel sheet, a cotton blanket, a double layered polar fleece blanket and THREE quilts. And, as he has every night this week, he's come in before bed and shut all the windows and curtains in the bedroom, hoping once again that I won't notice and will leave them shut. Of course I do notice and fling them all open even wider before climbing into bed myself. He complained about it being FREEZING outside and how I'm trying to kill him by hypothermia.

A few nights ago, along with my ordinary high running body temp and residual power surges (hot flashes), I had the whole sinus/bug/allergy thing running my interior thermometer up and so I was reduced to a pair of boxers and a really, really thin, loose spaghetti strap tank top. I woke up in the morning to hubby bringing me coffee in bed with a big grin on his face. I sat up and noticed that turning and twisting in bed had popped my breasts out the top of the tank top where they were swaying happily free and loose in the morning air. Good thing it was hubby and not William (who sometimes comes in to drape himself over the bed and say good morning) who first came to wake me up. Although it's not like my kid hasn't seen my breasts before. But really, he hasn't been interested in the pair since he was a nursing toddler. Now the sight of these old ladies would probably just scar him.

Yesterday evening I went to a meeting of my reading club. I was running late and a friend came by so we could drive together as it was over in the next town, and so I changed quickly into something more appropriate than the work clothes I was wearing. I was almost out the door before I noticed the new tank top I was wearing proudly announcing the shirt size in a multiple string of "XL" running down a plastic strip. (I had to buy XL because I bought it in the junior section, I will vainly point out).

Have you ever done an unintentional Minnie Pearl and worn something with the tag still attached? I caught it this time but there are many times I have not. Last year I bought a pair of jeans that fit beautifully, dammit it. I say that because it annoyed me that it was a brand that had a big ol' adhesive label that said "Will magically make your fat ass look a size smaller" - okay, maybe it really said "Instantly slims you!". But we all KNOW what they really meant. And yeah. I forgot to take the label off the first time I wore them, letting everyone know that my butt was really much bigger than it appeared in the rear view mirror. Sigh.

Of course everyone has had the skirt tucked into your underwear incident coming out of a restaurant bathroom. Or the trailing toilet paper on the shoe. Unzipped jeans, tag sticking up outof the back of a collar line, shirt button undone between the boobs. Or the horrifying experience of wearing a pair of jeans a second day and after walking around in them for a few hours, seeing yesterday's underwear inching out of the bottom of a leg. One of my regular routines is to pop open the button on my pants when sitting down to a big dinner out on the town and forgetting to button it again before I stand up.

Once, long ago in my early twenties, flying home from a vacation, the plane my ex and I were on was running late and we were cutting it really close to missing our connecting flight. Who wants to miss their connection, right? So I said "Let's run for it." I got off the plane and ran. Hubby, and another man who needed the same flight, were behind me shouting for me to stop. I assumed they were resigned to missing the flight and wanted me to give up trying to change fate. They continued to yell for me to "slow down", "wait", "stop" and I just kept running and occasionally yelling "NO! NO!" behind me.

Well, we finally did all arrive, huffing and puffing, at the gate, just in time to watch the plane pulling away out the big wall of windows. Hubby was more than huffing and puffing, he was beet red and looked furious. The extra guy grabbed at his chest, breathing heavily while desperating trying to cover up obvious laughing with case of pretend coughing. Turns out that they'd been trying to get me to stop because......

my wrap around skirt had come apart and I had run through a major international airport with nothing on my backside but a pair of pantyhose and the tiniest colorful strip of bikini underwear. With my clothes torn asunder it made the two men behind me look like evil would-be rapists and me the desperately fleeing heroine. We had to wait hours for the next fight and the ex refused to talk to me for the entire time. In fact I vaguely remember he went and had coffee with the other guy and left me to sit by myself. Thank GAWD thongs were not invented yet.

My hubby's favorite Fashion Faux Pas is to wear his shirts inside out and sometimes backwards so that the tag hangs in front. My kids.... well, they are all too cool to appear in public without carefully orchestrating their outfits and checking it carefully for casual but perfect chicness. Although now that I think about it, I remember the time we discovered that my DIL's teenage sister had worn two completely different sandals all day long without realizing it.

Your turn - What are your wardrobe stories? Different colored socks? Bent over and split a seam? How about sleeping - are you a scantily clad hottie or a bundled up eskimo? While you come up with some good stories, I'm going to go take a shower and then get dressed. I'll try not to put my underwear on over my shorts.