what not to wear

John Ashcroft is in the hospital with an "extremely painful and sometimes dangerous, but rarely life-threatening" condition. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, say I. Mostly, I'm just hoping that he's completely hooked on smack by the time he gets out and has to contend with a lengthy and public stint in rehab, scrubbing Betty Ford's toilets with his toothbrush.

Thursday is now officially the best night of television, except for the part about ER sucking. And The Apprentice is better than Survivor. It's excellent. Check it out if you haven't yet.

Did I mention that my digital camera got dropped to the floor and is now off at Canon Camp, being examined and, likely, repaired at an exhorbitant price? well, it is. Anyway, the reason I bring this up is because, today at the coffee shop, I felt its absence so agonizingly. Rather than being able to pull it out of my bag and snap a photo for you all to see what I saw, I now have to rely on my descriptive superpowers (Form of an adjective! Shape of a modifier!) to share the moment with all of you.

There was this woman. I only saw her from the back. I guess she was about 60, but she might have been one of those suburban matrons who look either better or worse for the wear. Let's say somewhere between 55 and 75. Her hair was "blond" and sprayed so that it wouldn't have moved in a hurricane. She was wearing a quilted jacket. The back was made of four squarish panels, each sewn in a "crazy quilt" kind of way...not much rhyme or reason to it. All of the fabrics were in the cool-but-hot family of colors. One had big royal blue flowers on it. One was -- I don't know what to call it, not batik, but batik-like, probably done with salt -- with something that looked like a cascading magenta waterfall on it. The binding at the collar, waist, and wrists, was all bright violet. And, here's the best part: she was carrying a bag to match. It would seem that one accessory in this look was not adequate. She needed two.

I was trying to imagine my self, harumphy-rumphy years from now, having traded in my jeans and black t-shirts for a look like that and, well, I couldn't. I think they're going to wheel me into the dining hall at the old folks home in a pair of Levi's and a black t-shirt. Although, hopefully, by then, my shirt won't have splatters of oil all over it. Maybe just a little drool or some oatmeal.

All I can say is that, if you ever see me dressed like that, you shoot me. Because it's not me. The pods have arrived.

Posted by volfie at March 5, 2004 02:11 PM