Time and a place

First, my disclaimer: If you only own one outfit of clothing, wear it proudly and hold your head high when you do.

Everyone else? There is a time and a place! How 'bout my trip to Cousin's Subs to grab a turkey/bacon/guac sandwich. No, you won't find it in the South Beach diet manual. But I can't front. It was good.

Anywho, enough about the sandwich. When I sat to dig into my grub, a woman came in w/a couple of kids wearing a nightclub outfit. I mean an A Night at the Roxbury outfit. There was the too tiny skirt - you know it's too short if you subconsciously tug at the bottom of it every few seconds, the too tight sweater top that kept creepin' up over that belly button like it was trying to get away, and the open-toed shoes. What have I said about those shoes? Make 'em fit. Or clip your toe nails and rub some lotion on your heels. It was like little individual biscuits fighting their way out of the front of the shoes, each one fighting for room against the other one, all of them holding on for dear life.

Now, here's the kicker. This woman was attractive - pleasant face, nice smile, etc. She didn't need to do this. She definitely didn't need to at like 2 O'clock in the afternoon. If she really wanted to kick it like that at midnight on her way to the club, fine. Different strokes for different folks. Some of us took Roxbury as a club-gear guide, I guess.

But it's like a nice car. It always makes me cringe, when I see a classy, luxury sedan that has been ruined by a bawdy paint job or fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror, or some other ridiculous embellishment.

Have some faith in yourself. I ain't Oprah, but man, if you look good, let your looks flaunt themselves. No need to dress it up and ruin the illusion.