A friend posted this on Facebook the other day:
I LOL’ed to myself and then I “Liked” the photo. This friend commented that she was surprised that I did not comment. Do you want to know why I did not comment? Because people who live in glass houses should not throw stones. Here is my look for 6 months out of the year:
During the off season, I keep it hidden away in an upstair’s closet. Where it lies in wait for its annual debut. October is when it comes out into the light and hangs on the coat hook by the garage door until the end of March. Always ready for my eager self.
I love my parka so, SO much. It literally is my best friend. The Kid hates it. When I say “hate” I mean it. If given the chance to throw a lit match at it, I’m pretty sure she’d take it. Hopefully, with me NOT inside. I can see her cringe on the field hockey field when she sees me sitting in the bleachers wearing it. Or when I throw it on to drop her and her friends off at the mall. Sometimes I’ll even add my pair of Fuggs to complete the look. This is the ultimate revenge tool. There is nothing like embarrassing your teenager. I live for it. But that is only one of the reasons why I love my parka so.
- This thing covers up every flaw, faux pas, and bad hair day. There is nothing like a big fluff of goose feathers to mask every imperfection from the scalp to the knees. Now if I could only get away with wearing it in July.
- It allows me to get more sleep. How? I don’t have to waste time getting dressed. If you happen to run into me at school or the grocery store and I am wearing this, you can bet the ranch on the fact that there is nothing but hairy legs, bra-less ta-tas and Walmart pajama bottoms under there. I might be kinda screwed if I get arrested or wind up in a car accident. Because chances are, if I’m dressed like this, I also have not changed my underwear. Sorry mom.
- This bad boy covers my buns. And if my buns are warm, everything is warm. Who said heat escapes through the head?
- It is machine washable and dryer safe. My white parka has the misfortune of being owned by a slob. Therefore, it pretty much gets a bath every time I lean against my car, spill coffee on myself or sit. It has seen the inside of a washing machine more times than Miley Cyrus has stuck out her tongue.
So, Purple Parka People, have you no shame? Walking around in a comforter with arms? Of course you don’t. Neither do I. I just hope you are dressed under there. There is room for only one PJ clad housewife in this town.