Her catwalk is the sidewalk.
Her catwalk is the sidewalk.

Oh Yes. She Did.

To the girl spotted in Georgetown Saturday afternoon, 4pm-ish, on 30th & M:  Your boyfriend called. He wants his ripped boxers back. His stained fraternity t-shirt, too. Since temps were in the 70’s, why don’t you give him those boots with the fur you were sporting? You won’t need those until January, if ever again.

Pull it together, sister, spring is here.

What to wear…what to wear? It’s a tricky wardrobe transition to toss the winter bulk for the lightness of spring, but don’t give up in frustration and commit a triple faux pas.

I struggled myself Saturday morning, wanting to bare my legs in a black cotton  sundress, yet being vain enough that I wasn’t quite ready to flaunt my pasty stems. So I added a pair of capri-length leggings, slipped into my comfy Tory Burch flip-flops, and was out the door.

I arrived on M Street, feeling instantly envious of all the girls in their breezy sundresses and tanned, bared legs. I wished I had ditched the leggings, but accepted my fashion misstep. I made a mental note to apply self-tanner at the next possible opportunity, and proceeded to enjoy the afternoon.

The moral of this musing?  No matter how you slice it, life is too short for bad outfits.


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