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.