Crimes of fashion

I am the first to admit I am NOT at the top of my game when it comes to fashion during the winter and early spring.

Simply put, the winter-phobe in me basically hijacks all sense of fashion respectability and decorum and heads directly to things that (a) keep me warm, (b) keep me dry and, (c) in the case of footwear, keep me upright. I don't think this is too much to ask, do you?

But, oh my, the last week or two, I have hit Rock Bottom. It's time for an intervention -- or better yet, 70-degree weather.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I confess to following Crimes of Fashion:

Wool Winter Pea Coat
I've had this coat since the Number1Son was in college. I know this because I bought at an outlet mall just outside Salem, Ore., where he went to school. It's been a steady, toasty winter partner (hats off, London Fog) for some 10 years, but recently, it has become, shall we say, a little lining-challenged?* So last week, as I was making a mental note to take WWPC to Henryk the Tailor's for a little rehab, I absentmindedly flicked at what I thought was small, removable gob o' goober. Wrong.

Threadbare.
And, why yes, that IS a gob o' goober to the lower right.

Call me Bobbette Cratchit. I've got the fingerless gloves to prove it.

* How, you might ask, does the lining of a pea coat come to look like it's a playground for werewolves?

The answer is -- a state employee's office chair. The little up-and-down-adjustment-knob-thingy is on the back of the chair. Drape your coat over the back of said chair -- remove coat quickly -- instant werewolf. You'd think I'd learn, wouldn't you?

Long-sleeved Mock Turtle Necks


I found these three little lovelies about six weeks ago at the height of our, umm, let's see, 78th arctic freeze this winter. I wear them Every Stinkin' Day, though not all at the same time (I DO have my standards. That would make me look fat.er.) I try to camouflage this fact by wearing a puffy vest, largely because my office has never figured out the concept of turning down the AC in January. I'm not sure this ruse works very well, but my co-workers (and Wonderfully Patient Spouse) are very kind. (Note: I do launder everything on a regular basis.)

Flood Pants
I've set a new low -- or high, depending on your perspective -- with this particular ensemble. I bought a new pair of jeans about a month ago. They're my raison d'etre, my tried-and-true brand, bought them for years, fit like a chubby glove, never had a problem. Until I threw them in the wash to get that weird stiff-new-clothes-feel out of them. They shrunk vertically.

Our first sunny day in March -- and a glance at my reflection in a glass door -- was a revelation. And then some. I don't need no stinkin' Noah's Ark when the rain starts to fall, I've got FLOOD pants.

I repeat, my co-workers (and the WPS) are very kind.

So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen of the jury.

Crimes of Fashion.

Guilty as charged.