Last night around 9:30, Adrian finally located Senor Bat, wedged into a hollow area of the closet door. Animal Control came, extracted the bat, and carried it in a heavily gloved hand squeeking and chirping out into the night. Alastair slept through the whole thing.
Lately, I've been pondering the number of things, particularly in the fashion world today, that I don't understand at all. Here's my current (and growing) list:
1. Those Crocs shoes. Aren't those garden shoes? How are clogs full of holes comfortable? Plastic shoes just make my feet sweat.
2. Gauchos. Nobody looks good in them. Period. I hate the identity ambivalence of gauchos. Skirt-pants-capris-clamdiggers. Plus, most gauchos are made of a drappy knit fabic that clings in a most unflattering fashion.
3. Skinny jeans. Anyone who suffered through adolecence in the 80's should remember that only really skinny people look good in skinny jeans. The rest of us just look like denim-encased sausages.
4. High-heeled pumps worn with jeans. Whitesnake video, anyone?
5. The return of slouchy knit clothing. Like tunics worn with big-ass belts. I'm sure it's all very comfy, but it looks so Derelique.
6. Leggings. Dear God, we have returned to 1988. What's next? Stirrup pants? I shudder at the thought.
I could go on and on. Just wait until I make my next venture to the mall or CaryTown to gawk at the teenyboppers and hipsters.
Lord, I am getting so old.