peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

I was given a very generous gift. A scarf.

Except. I’m not really a scarf-wearer. I’m more of a t-shirt-and-jeans wearer.

Coordinating work clothes puts me in a tizzy. What with the blouse, the cardigan, the skirt, the tights, the shoes, the accessories. It’s overwhelming to me.

But. I am thankful to receive presents.

So.

I consulted my fashionista 10-year-old daughter and even checked out a fashion website–http://www.refinery29.com/how-to-tie-a-scarf/–that details exactly how to wear a scarf. Did you know there’s a way to wear a scarf called The Neck Brace? And, yeah, when I checked myself in the mirror, I looked about as uncomfortable as someone wearing an actual neck brace. Stiff and awkward.

I tried the looping and the twisting and the wrapping. I paired my new lime green scarf with my black outfit, and headed into work. I walked into the meeting looking something like this.

What’s lurking in MY closet? I’ll tell you: crazy-ugly clothes.

But that was last week. Today they are gone. Yep, I got rid of 1/5 of my clothes. Just. Like. That.

Here’s how it went down. I was getting dressed for work and I was in a hurry. I tried on a black skirt and a black turtleneck sweater. I took off the black skirt because–for some lame reason–it wasn’t the SAME matching black as the sweater. I threw it onto the floor. So there I was, standing in my turtleneck sweater and tights. I’ll wear some boots, it’ll be swell. But what skirt? The grey one? Yeah, that’s it. I peered at my reflection. No! All wrong! I yanked off the boots and put on flats. I took another peek in the mirror. No! Still not right! I shimmied out of the tights and put on (boring) slacks. And grabbed my keys, purse, laptop, phone…and dashed out the door.

Ugh. I hate it when I’m feeling uncomfortable–and lacking confidence–in my clothes. I also hate it when I continue to make bad clothing purchases.

So I did what I had to do. When I got home, I proceeded to:

1. Grab
2. Assess
3. Dump

Pilling sweaters. Skirts of strange lengths. Baggy blouses. Gaggy patterns. Hideous materials. Ill-fitting pants. These are all stuffed into giant bags destined for…donation.

Good riddance, skeletons!

Yeah, yeah. I’ve joked about buying granny panties.

But see, the thing is, I often swing by the juniors department and pick up some pick-me-up panties. You know the ones I’m talking about.

So sexy! And fun!

And…tiny. They ride up too high in back and sit too low at my waist.

But who cares if they’re not comfortable? That’s not the point.

I have one pair with dice all over them. Dice?! As in “maybe I’ll get lucky” if I wear these.

Talk about sexy. Vegas, baby!

You know when you’re about to give a speech in front of a big crowd of people and you’re nervous? It is suggested that if you imagine the crowd in their undies, you won’t be as nervous. Yeah. So picture me in those dice undies. And have a laugh at my expense. At my lucky undies expense.

I’m not a fan of washing laundry these days. What a chore.

But it didn’t used to be a chore. Growing up, my mother didn’t buy a washer and dryer until I was a teenager. So, every Saturday night, we’d haul a week’s worth of dirty laundry to the Laundromat.

It was our Saturday-night ritual. And it was kinda like date night.

With a purse full of quarters weighing down one hand and the jug of bleach in the other hand, laundry night was also a workout.

I remember the sounds of the chugging of the washers. We could wash 10 loads at once!

Then we’d sneak out and go next door for donuts. I would get a chocolate old-fashioned doughnut and a bagful of doughnut holes. Oh yeah, and a raspberry jelly-filled doughnut with powdered sugar. The anticipation of folding those mountains always increased my appetite.

When drying the clothes, the Laundromat would fill with the wonderful smell of Bounce. If it was raining, it would be so toasty inside.

Time to eat the donuts and guzzle down the carton of milk. And talk. When it was time to fold, that’s when the party really began.

My mother taught me to match up the socks and fold them over in pairs so they stayed together and how to tri-fold bath towels. Just like the Hilton.

It was together time, snack time, and hang-out time. My mother transformed the typically tedious ritual of doing laundry into Mom-and-daughter date night.

I don’t know about you, but when it’s cold outside, I like to wear a coat. When it’s rainy, a water-repellant coat. Duh.

Teens around here don’t like to wear coats. Even in a downpour.

A few years ago I bought my son a puffy winter coat. A coat that you could wear in the freaking tundra.

Well, this puffy coat has been at the center of many mother-son debates: to wear or not to wear.

The decision is usually: not to wear.

This reminds of Jerry Seinfeld and the puffy pirate shirt. Remember?

It’s the Seinfeld episode whereby Kramer’s low-talking girlfriend, a clothing designer, gets Jerry to wear a puffy pirate-like shirt on the Today Show. Jerry agrees, because he can’t hear what she is saying. When he realizes what he committed to, Jerry whines “But I don’t want to be a pirate.” He wears the shirt on TV and everyone laughs. Jerry is miserable and finally blurts out that it’s not his shirt and that he thinks it’s “the stupidest shirt I’ve ever seen.”

And then there’s the pick-your-battles theory. Is this puffy coat worth the battles that ensue? Nah. This puffy coat is now in the giveaway pile.

Let someone else have a pirate battle.

You know Templeton, the rat in Charlotte’s Web? Well, he goes to the fair and feasts until he is so fat that he drags his belly on the ground.

I am that rat. But instead of the fair, I am in New York. You’ll probably see the headline in the New York Daily News:

PIPPI EATS HER WAY THROUGH NEW YORK CITY!

World’s best bagel, famous Ray’s pizza, mobsters’ hangouts in Little Italy, New York delis, quaint places in East Village…you name it.

Whew, glad I packed my fat jeans.

Knock knock. Who’s there? Nice knockers.

Have you been bra shopping in awhile? No? Maybe you should.

Whether you wear t-shirts (my uniform.) or sweaters or blouses, a new, good-fitting bra makes a huge, ahem, or medium difference.

I went bra shopping today. They have bras to lift (OK, who doesn’t want lift??), support, enhance, minimize, smooth, push up…you name it.

What a difference! “Apollo 13, we have lift-off!”

Awhile back, I went to the Nordstrom lingerie department and got properly fitted for a bra. It was an embarrassing experience: the clerk tugged, poked, adjusted, squeezed. Nah, she didn’t squeeze. But she did tell me, “You have really nice breast tissue.”

Whoa! Excellent! Now THAT’S something you don’t hear every day. Especially after birthing and breast feeding three children. (TMI.)

So, here’s what I bought today. Hey babe, nice breast tissue.

I applaud pioneer women for their bad-assness. They were tough and capable. Could you cut it as a pioneer woman? Go through your list of abilities and incompetencies and see.

Here’s what Pioneer Pippi can do:

• I can make biscuits and pies from scratch.
• I can chop wood and start a fire.
• I can fetch well water.
• I can teach children how to read.
• I can beat a rug with a stick.
• I can make soup and soap.
• I can can jam.
• I can milk a cow.
• I can plant and grow corn.
• I can rock a bonnet.
• I can ride a horse and steer a wagon.
• I can mend a fence.
• I can negotiate with local tribes.
• I can barter at the general store.
• I can think on my toes and deal with any type of disaster: flood, locusts, tornadoes, blizzards, dust storms.
• I can wash laundry with a washing board.
• I can go into labor with no pain medicine.
• I can raise children.

Here’s what City Pippi cannot do:

• I cannot slaughter a hog.
• I cannot kill a snake.
• I cannot chop a chicken’s head off and pluck its feathers.
• I cannot shoot a gun.
• I cannot brand cattle.
• I cannot dig a well.
• I cannot castrate a bull.
• I cannot build a barn.
• I cannot deliver a baby (human or barn animal).
• I cannot hunt.
• I cannot knit or crochet or sew. No blankets for us. We’d be wearing togas made out of sheets.

There’s really no use complaining about laundry. Clothes get dirty. You wash them. You dry them. You fold them.

Or, you don’t fold them for a long time and you see how high a tower you can build out of clean underwear and jeans before it topples over. #goodtimes

See, I’m a glass half-full gal. Instead of getting pissy over the loads and loads of laundry I have to fold, I try to view things a little differently. Go on. See if you can turn this “dirty laundry” problem into a positive. I can:

1. I am lucky to have an indoor washer and dryer. In my house. Growing up, we went to the Laundromat. It wasn’t so bad. I have fun memories having a “folding party” with my mother. But ya can’t build towers out of unfolded laundry at the Laundromat.
2. I am fortunate that I have clothes. While they may not be fashionable, they are mine. If you can spot the ugly clothes in the pile below, they are probably mine.
3. I have a sweet husband and I really don’t mind doing his laundry. Enough said about that. Sheesh, no getting all sappy on us please.
4. I have three awesome children–and though it takes an act of courage to put up with the corn-chip-smell of the socks, the art paint permanently stained on my white bath towels, and the splatters of spaghetti sauce on the shirts–I am thankful for them and their piles every day.
5. Oh and I have a door to the laundry room. And it stays shut. A lot.

Maybe now you won’t just be a glass half-full person, you can now be a laundry bin half-full person.

I will never, ever wear a Forever Lazy.

Never mind that the newest trend to hit American TV infomercials, billed as “adult footed pajamas” comes in three gorgeous colors:

• Hanky Pinky Fuschia
• Workday Blues
• Asleep on the Job Gray

Never mind that these are super, soft microfiber polar fleece.

Never mind that you can now wear pajamas in public. At a tailgate party, no less. Will Forever Lazy be available in NFL and college team colors next season?

Never mind that these feature a “zippered hatch,” meaning you can go to the bathroom without dropping your drawers.

Never mind that you can dress like the Teletubbies.

And ya wonder why Americans get pinged for their casual dress?

If ya think I’m pulling your jammied leg and this is a parody on Saturday Night Live, order yourself one today. And if you act now, you’ll receive a second Forever Lazy and the matching footies free.

https://www.orderforeverlazy.com/?tag=im|sm|go|tm&a_aid=011&a_bid=534434b0