What not to wear for coffee
Monday, October 27th, 2008There’s nothing quite like a coffee date between gal pals. No spouse, no kids, no work…just a soothing cup of java and company in which to delight. To dish. To have a hearty laugh at the challenges and peculiarities of life, exchange a hug and a promise to do it again soon, and then, off and running, you’re right back at the daily grind. It’s such a perfect, albeit too brief, moment of reprieve.
I’ve never given much thought about what to wear to one of these coffee dates. I love them, I look forward to them, and I’m usually so pressed for time, my daily uniform of jeans and a tee must suffice. After all, it is the company one keeps, not the clothing, right?
In theory, perhaps. Ladies, there is no delicate way to capture in words what my friend and I bore witness to during our most recent coffee date. Nothing delicate at all. In fact, the whole experience was rather jarring. And it prompts me to share a few thoughts about what not to wear for coffee….
1. An exposed midriff, especially if you’re not sporting athletic wear. If your sweater is too short and your pants are too tight, leaving your ample tummy rolling forward for all the world to see, you’ve got a problem. Certain things should always be covered. Case closed.
2. Faux snake skin, gold-plated stilettos with a power suit. Mixed messages, if you ask me. Especially at 8 am.
3. Skinny leg, skin tight, black denim Bermuda shorts. On a guy.
Stop.
I wrote this blog entry a few months ago and just couldn’t bear to hit “publish.” In fact, I stopped writing it before it was finished because it just seemed in poor taste. Such eye popping observations are so shocking in the moment you almost can’t wait to recount them, but then somehow, it seems nothing but cruel to share some poor soul’s tough day for the masses to envision. I mean, we’ve all had our moments. A little compassion goes a long way. I’d like to think so, anyway.
So I swore off this blog entry as the right thing to do. And then it happened to me again. Today. In a restaurant. During high noon. The same shocking moment that caught me totally unexpected. I tried to avert my eyes, but I couldn’t help myself. A gal got up out of her booth, her denim britches so low and her t-shirt so tight that not only did I bear witness to a vast muffin top and at the very least, half a fanny, but a belly that simply fell over in abundance.
Perhaps it was my husband telling me he had just seen the new Britney Spears video on VH1, where she is basically nude through the whole thing. Perhaps it was the shock value of catching a glimpse, yet again, of something that really is meant for intimate eyes only. Trust me, I’m no prude. But ladies, cover it up. Over exposure is just that. Over exposure. And it’s so over.



