New and unusual ways in which my clothing has made me look foolish over the past three days:
I am wearing this dress to work. As it was sixty degrees, I didn't bother to wear it with tights. I realize, as I squat directly in front of a large window, that this particular dress is far too short to wear to work, when work may included unplanned-for squatting situations when things like lamps and rugs must be moved around.
Especially when one's underthings happened to be brightly colored and probably visible from the parking lot.
After several frustrating hours of looking for a very particular shirt I wished to wear out to dinner, I am forced to write off the disappearance of my striped cowlneck as inexplicable and inevitable, as I really like that shirt, and have only worn it twice. So of course it's now lost and gone forever. Ah, no matter: I decide on a very lovely cashmere sweater that has never failed me.
Five and a half hours later, I realize that this sweater has a hole the size of a nickel which had been front and centered over my torso for the entire evening.
Admittedly, I overslept by about 45 minutes, so I wasn't doing a full once-over before leaving the house this morning. But my drapey DvF dress has been a failsafe piece for quite some time, so I feel confident in its ability not to make me look like an ass.
Turns out the lower half of this dress has become see-through without my noticing. The florescent lights of the bathroom at work have helpfully pointed this out to me, so now I get to shuffle through a mildly important networking thingy this evening with the knowledge that, lit from the right angle, I might as well not be wearing much more than a leotard.
At this rate, I'm assuming that tomorrow will involve tearing a giant hole in the seat of my pants, or I'll have a heel snap off as I'm walking down a staircase, or that a scarf will become sentient and strangle me of its own volition.