the good

This past Christmas I was digging through vintage clothes shops with some friends, and we found this outfit: a one-piece white blouse with huge gold cuff-buttons combined with a bright orange/brown plaid jumper...with pleated skirt. We all thought it was great, especially me, but I mentioned that mr rampy would never let me wear it in a million years. He has this thing against jumpers. He finds them childish and non-professional, which is a shame, because one of my favorite outfits when I met him was an orange-coral striped turtleneck that I wore with a cobalt blue jumper for that "I'm a backup dancer on Zoom" look.

And this outfit had the "I'm starring on The Electric Company" look, which is a step up even from Zoom, but I sighed and passed it by anyway.

My friends were appalled that I was letting mr rampy dictate what I wear. More appalled than I even knew, because today, lo and behold, here came a package in the mail, containing the outfit! Months later they had gone back and gotten it (or, rather, seen it again while shopping for something else and thought they should get it for me). So sweet! They even put on the card, "Even if (mr rampy) won't let you wear it, we thought you should have this hanging in your closet."

But I am totally wearing it. Just as soon as I get that scary yellow stain bleached out of the peter pan collar.

the bad

The perfect end to the day is not, actually, having a juvenile delinquent shoving his head up your skirt as you walk up the stairs to the El, and then telling you all about how he can see up your skirt, citing the color of your panties as proof. Especially when his secondary motif is how much of a pervert he isn't.