A few days ago I was talking with my sister.
Actually, I was forcing her to play Barbie.
Believe it or not, I have a lot more fun dressing up others than posing relentlessly - though you wouldn't know if from this blog.
Anyhow, after about the 50th "where would I ever wear this!?", it began to dawn on me that maybe my basic "go-tos" were not exactly . . . basic.
And, as I exclaimed how bodaciously fantastic all of my high-waisted pieces made her look, and gushed over how she would have to literally fight off all of the men who would surely obsess over her form in these clothes -
- she revealed something that my affinity for a certain blog probably should have long ago.
I do not know how to dress for men.
In fact, I'm beginning to realize that even when I try to make myself appealing to the opposite sex, I'm actually physically incapable of doing so.
Personality quips aside, I think that this may be something to address if I continue to remain staunchly committed to my lifelong goal of having a dashingly-dressed-yet-seductively-serene man confess his love to me as the rising sun shines epically between our gently touching foreheads.
Looks like Mr. Darcy will just have to put up with my combat boots for now.