A Quarter Life Crisis

Packing my clothes yet again for a business trip up to podunk northern jersey I stumbled upon last yr's favorite summer dress. Given the deep v-neck it was a little too risque for work. Of course I did have a quasi date with Gas Station Boy (meaning I met him while pumping gas) later on and it, the dress that is, was more than appropriate.

Then it hit me why this dress was buried in the closet behind all the rest of summer's clothes. It was the break-up dress. Yes this was the infamous break-up dress worn when I dropped the bomb on Immigrant Boy. And in my defense I didn't know he was an immigrant until after I already sort of, kind of, liked him too much to report him to the authorities. What would you have me do....report him and watch as the "man" shipped him on a boat back to Bangladesh! I know, I heard the George Bush that lives in my head yelling at me but he was overruled by the Nancy Pelosi I adopted to balance the scales.

If you haven't guessed it by now I am a little neurotically superstitious. Everything has a meaning. It would be bad luck to wear the break up dress from Immigrant Boy to the quasi date with Gas Station Boy....right? While I finished packing the suitcase I debated this in my mind. Because of this ridonkulous (yes I made it up) train of thought I had half a closet full of perfectly functional clothes that I couldn't wear.

In the closet with last summer's favorite dress/ break up dress was my first time jeans, Jazz Boy first kiss' shirt, finally out of my parent's house' sweatpants and a host of other firsts, lasts and regrettable moment clothing. This was a pattern that needed breaking or I do really need to consider the shrink.

On my own I'd half broken my germ-a-phobic tendencies (this is a blog for a later date) so I decided to take back the closet and wear Immigrant Boy's break up dress. And instead of calling it the break up dress I would just say it was my favorite dress from last summer. I know you fashionista's out there are losing your mind because I am wearing a dress from last yr but grow up....it's comfortable.

Before letting any additional adverse thoughts creep into my head about the ominous break up dress, I leapt into action and put in on. That's right I just did it, dammit. It felt good too, just as I'd remembered, light and airy. One of those dresses an aunt of mine would call easy access clothing because it's wrinkle resistant and easily lifted.

As I checked myself out in the mirror I began to feel some of the superstitious sentiments from earlier seep into my mind. No, no, no I was wearing this very nice summer dress to the football field to a see a perfectly fine gentleman run around in tights what could possibly be wrong with that. Eventually I made it out of the apt with the dress on and believe you me it was a battle. I would like you to think I am a sane person so I won't tell you that I changed clothes 2 times before putting the dress back on and leaving my apt. OK, I just spilled the beans, but you get the point. Old habits die hard. Give me a little credit I did make it out the house in the dress.

And like most of my unfounded slightly neurotic behaviors, this routine was worth breaking. Nothing ill happened during the quasi date with Gas Station boy. He was perfectly happy to see me and I watched him practice with genuine interest. We shared a parting hug (he was sweaty and I have an issue with clammy and/or hairy skin touching me) when he was done and I drove off thinking that he's in a lot better shape then I thought but shorter than I remember. There's always a down side!