Yesterday I had to break down and wear the bane of my wardrobe....... the dreaded red sweatpants. I only wear this scarlet monstrosity when absolutely necessary. Like when all my normal, neutral toned sweats are in the laundry and I'm on the verge of freezing to death. Then, and only then, will I resort to dressing like an extra cherry tomato left over from a Fruit Of The Loom panty commercial. I'm already fat and something about wearing an eye-catching red just seems to amplify it. I'm no fashion maven but I do have my bare minimum standards. Admittedly, the red sweats are the warmest in my vast sweat apparel collection due to their super fuzzy fleece interior, but I'd rather shiver in my worn out, faded black sweats than stoop to frolicking around like "The Lady In Red." I don't shave my legs much in the winter, and when I peel off the red sweats they always leave the tell tale crimson fuzz behind desperately clinging with all their fleecy might to my spiky leg hair. My kids were concerned one day because they actually thought my legs were bleeding. It was then that I had to tell them the sad truth that
red fuzz on the legs marks the beginning symptoms of the dreaded Elmo disease. It starts with the red fur slowly creeping up your lower limbs, and before you know it the fur balls maneuver its way up your body, conquering any clothes foolish enough to cross its path. It will even invade your cleavage and sacred belly button crevice. Your speaking voice slowly dissolves into a whiny high-pitched tone and you revert to baby speech and annoyingly referring to yourself in the first person. Sadly, full blown Elmo disease follows soon after. The next thing you know, you're mechanically doing the Hokey Pokey and bending over for complete strangers and you just can't seem to stop. The yearning for a Dorothy fish sandwich wedged unto a nice sesame bun becomes a constant craving too.
Hey, this is Elmo's World! You're just living in it, sucka.
The very worst fashion move possible, ladies, is to don the hideous red sweat combo. That's right. The sweatpants and the matching sweatshirt. It gives you a certain "Mrs. Claus" quality about you. I guarantee you that if you break the ten commandments of style and wear a monochromatic sweats outfit, you'll have to contend with Santa Claus wannabes everywhere leering at you to "come on over and sit my lap for awhile and tell me if you've been a naughty or nice little girl." That's precisely how my Mom and Dad started dating. Seriously.
I owned an electric blue pair of sweatpants back in my elementary school days. I stopped wearing them when the Smurf jokes aimed at me from my peers became too unbearable. My mom assured me that I didn't look at all Smurfy. In fact, she said I looked more like a blueberry. She even unfavorably compared me to bratty gum addict, Violet Beauregarde. :( I'll never forget the Valentines Day present she gave me of a purple sweatpants ensemble with multi-heart appliques dancing across it. I wasn't a hefty child at all, but after hearing incessant rounds of teasing that I looked like a tattooed grape,I grew irritated. The only grape categories I fit into was "Grape Of Wrath," and "Sour Grapes". I shelved my Grapes Of Love outfit into the dark recesses of my closet where it never saw the light of day again until Goodwill came knocking a few years later. I pity the poor girl that it undoubtedly got foisted onto. I hope people told her that she's a stunning purple vision of loveliness and not a tattooed grape.
I guess the main moral of this story is that fruit flavors and fruit colors are best left to rolls of Life Savers candy and Gay Pride parades. Adult sized sweatpants in certain colors should be forbidden territory. By the way, I'm typing all of this while wearing my dark gray zippered sweat hoodie, and heather gray drawstring sweatpants. Hanes Her Way brand, just in case you want to replicate my sophisticated Infidel fashion savvy for yourself.