A little reminder

So, lately I have seen overalls popping up here and there on fashion-type blogs. I am being serious when I say this is one trend I can NEVER, ever subscribe to. And to remind myself of that, here is a list of why:

1. I have a picture of myself, on the first day of second grade, wearing the following combination: Green sunflower print overalls, scrunch socks, patchwork quilt Converses (as horrible as you are imagining) and a neon colored backpack. One side of my overalls is unbuckled, telling my classmates that I was much too cool to bother fastening both sides. I should never be allowed to even utter the word ‘fashion’ again.

2. When I was in fourth grade I wore a sassy white pair of overalls to school. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was at lunch contemplating how I was going to avoid grass stains and playground dirt (a. stand by a portable with the cools girls talking about how hot Jonathan Taylor Thomas was or b. play kickball and sneak to the back of the line over and over so I would never actually have to play) when I dropped an entire carton of chocolate milk on my lap. I had to waddle to the office with drippy chocolate milk pants and call my mom, crying hysterically, and ask her to bring me new clothes. Traumatizing.

3. Buried deep in a box at my parent’s house is a photo of me in a dressing room stall wearing overalls with an embroidered Eeyore on them, circa 1999. Next to it is a picture of Ali wearing the same thing. Maybe we were joking, but probably deep inside we actually wanted to own these items of clothing. As I look at that girl, with gigantic eyebrows and white sparkle eyeshadow, I know that to own overalls now would be to unleash that inner 12-year-old. No thanks.

4. A problem I have run into with my recent romper addiction is how unnaturally long my torso is. My solution for this as a young overall-wearing child was to adjust the straps to make them as long as possible. That presented a whole new conundrum because not only did it look stupid, but now I had a gaping patch of skin on the side where my shirt was not long enough. The solution? A bodysuit. Please tell me you remember those. Well, things went from bad to worse when one day in second grade the snaps holding it in place began to come undone as I sat in class. I could see it going very badly, so I casually slipped my hand down to try and fix it. As I struggled, my teacher looked over at me, hand down my pants, and asked if I was okay. Seriously mortifying for a little girl.

I could go on, seriously, but this is dredging up some painful memories. I think I have sufficiently made my point.

bike bike bike

you guys, I have a bike. Dreams are coming true this summer.

It all began when I was at my parents house. I was out in the garage spying on my little brother who was practicing ninja rolls in the front yard*. Just as I was considering how to get him on a reality show, I looked up and there, in the rafters, were two bikes.

These bikes have been in my life since 1987, silently hanging in garages, but never before had they looked so full of promise and joy. Fast-forward, we fixed the tires, cleaned it and now I can awkwardly cruise around Salt Lake like a little bird. A little bird with a sore butt. Who maybe looks really out of shape breathing heavily up small inclines.

Bike!


*Shortly after the ninja roll, I watched him throw a football at a rock only to have it bounce back and hit him in the face. Completely unaware anyone was watching.