Crazy Check

When I was nine, I remember trying to get out of the house wearing a leotard, half-shirt, different colored socks, and who knows what else, and my mom stopping me and saying, "Uh-uh." I was so angry at the time, but now when I look back at it I accurately recognize the fact that she saved me a lot of embarrassment. Sure, she wasn't there to stop me in high school when I wore corduroy pants I got at the thrift shop that were four sizes too big, (tied on with a rope) but hey - at least she'd checked me for years before that. That's what I feel like I sometimes need now - a Crazy Check. Someone to look me up and down before I go out the door, and say - "No, you're wearing too many patterns." or "Good lord, where did you find that shirt??" or, simply: "Start over". This morning, luckily my boyfriend provided a Crazy Check. Because I was wearing this:

I mean, I liked this outfit ... but I just didn't know, you know? But surprisingly, he let me go! Β All day I still couldn't help feeling like the polos-and-khakis crowd was eyeballing me at work .... Oh well - like it would kill them to throw in a little crazy or two, now and then.