What Not to Wear?

Not every day can be a fashion hole-in-one; I thought it was OK to tuck my teal sweatpants into my cowboy boots until I was fourteen. Admittedly, middle school was not kind to me. Luckily those days have passed, but traces of my oblivious self still remain, and made a reappearance when I emerged Sunday morning in my special Sunday outfit.

Within 0.3 seconds my husband bleated in dismay. I think his exact words were “No, no, no…no, nooooooo!” He bullied, he cajoled, he pleaded with me to change into something more norm-pleasing. But I was adamant. My beloved puff paint souvenir t-shirt from my 4th grade birthday party was not going to be shoved to the bottom of the drawer. Nobody puts baby in the corner!

Drawing this outfit in pen and ink just wouldn’t do it justice, so I went the extra mile to give you this graphic representation of my technicolor fashion clash.

purple long sleeve shirt, puff paint shirt from my 4th grade birthday party, design nerd sweatshirt, indescribably pink corduroys, Tiffany Blue Jack Purcells, brown "dogs of the world" socks
I rode Portland's Sunday Parkways in this outfit. I estimate about 750 people saw me. At least.

Last Friday, in Food

I tend to metabolize quickly, to the point that I consider it a defining feature of myself. As far back as I can remember, much of my waking time is spent thinking about food. Having a Danish mother reinforced the importance of food; being raised in a culture that reveres Julefrokost isn’t quite sane, or so I’ve been told. Which might explain my actions last Friday, in which I consumed enough food for a bus full of teenage boys.

cereal, tea, orange, egg sandwich, coke, pumpkin pie, gum, orange, chicken wings, spring rolls, fried wontons, pad kee mao, mocha/hazlenut milkshake, fries

I admit, it wasn’t the first time I’d overdone it in the food department. One time my uncle Henrik asked my sister and I what we wanted for dinner, and we simultaneously yelled “fried octopus rings” and “stuffed turkey”. So he made both, and threw in some bacon-wrapped pork chops for good measure, because he’s nice like that. After our menagerie of meats and their appropriate side dishes, we feasted on a solid marzipan cake until my aunt brought out a liter of ice cream, plopped it in front of me and declared “If you don’t eat it, it will melt!”. You can’t argue with that logic.

So, yes, I tend to eat a lot. If I had traversed the Oregon Trail I would have been the first left behind, huddled next to a barrel of flour and a sack of jerky. Put in perspective, last Friday’s trail of foraging doesn’t really compare to my previous gluttonous episodes, but seeing as I was out of eating shape, it sure made my gut question my mind. Would I do it again? No questions asked. Now, I think it’s time for some pie.