I am going to a bachelorette party this evening in SoHo. Now, as you may have guessed from my previous post, I don't exactly own a wardrobe that is conducive to clubbing in SoHo. There is not one thing in my closet that anyone from the cast of Sex in the City would have worn. Sigh. So, I am wearing jeans, black Kenneth Cole shoes (man shoes), a white DKNY button-down and a blue-striped DKNY silk tie.
It is this last item that has become the bane of my existence. You see, despite my unquestioned dykey-ness, I cannot tie a tie to save my life. You would think that the fact that I grew up with two brothers would have rubbed off on me, but - alas! No.
I stood in front of the mirror for thirty minutes, twisting, tucking, looping, weaving and tying, and in the end managed only to very nearly accidentally hang myself from the shower-rod. Stinkyboy was merrily amused, however. I'm sure I did, in fact, appear to be one giant cat toy. My nice blue silk tie now bears several distinctive Stinkyboy fabric-pulls. Grrrrrrrr.
Well, since Tim Gunn is not coming to my rescue this evening, this is what you get. Don't say I didn't warn y'all.
Edit to add: And to top off my ensemble, I've just now stepped into a freshly steaming pile of cat puke that has mysteriously appeared in front of the bathroom sink. Thanks, Stinkyboy.