Oh, Peplum

Exactly 966 days ago, my mom and I were perusing TJ MAXX one lackluster afternoon amid the purgatory of the ill Sping-Winter climate. We were going through this sort of post-holiday phase that we always do where I would tell my mom what kinds of things I like ( i.e. white high tops and trippy set of Betsey Johnson monkey earrings) and consequentley she would buy them, and then tell me I would recieve them for my birthday in two to three years. Our family dynamic was inarguably off, but hey, by the time I was 19 I would finally own those flat, black, thigh high boots she bought me on President say circa Fall 2012.

On this specific occasion, peplumed shirts were all the rage. And just as so, being the the 8th grade trend badwagoneer I was denounced to be, I had to have it. End of story. But not really. My mother, being the gracious pleasantry she always is, said "okay", stashed a pink blur of fabric in her cart, and followed the act with a mild "Merry Christmas", and continued on perusing.

Along came 2012, and thereafter a short 11 months came the infamously commercialized and host of misplaced values, X-mas. You'll never guess what I got for christmas: the Bubblegum Pink, zippered peplum top I asked for nearly a year. Gee thanks ma'! I don't want to sound even more ungracious than I already do, but unfortunately, that garments time had peaked, simmered on low heat, and passed all in a matter of the six months it sat at the bottom of a busted North Face bag in the corner my moms closet where she hides ALL our holiday gifts.

But I smiled, modeled the top down my bedroom hallway in my candy cane pajam pants, and hid it in the back of my closet for "safekeeping". I might have worn it once, twice tops over the course of two years, but then again that might be a highly exaggerated estimate in it's own right. Eventually, I sneaked it in to a Purple Heart clothing donation bag to go to someone who could really care for the article of clothing that I had so selfishly neglected.

6 months later, I regret it. And now, here I stand print mixing to a fault with a pleated tartan skirt to make up for my distress in discerning lack in ownership of a single garment featuring the additive flair of structural cloth bellowing from my midsection.

The Jonas Brother's were right, "you don't know what you've got 'till it's gone... you don't even know"

Calvin Kelin turtleneck, Forever 21 skirt and jeans, Topshop velvet oxfords.

 An a different note, if I'm wrongly "throwing up" gang signs, can someone let me know.