I’ve been catching up on my InStyle reading, and I’ve learned some things you may care about. First, it is always spelled as one word. I’m pretty sure I’ve done that wrong on this blog before. (I learned this little tidbit in the Fifteenth Anniversary issue). The other thing I’ve noticed made me gasp and shudder and say these words, “The Eighties called. They want their clothes back.”
I’m not even kidding people – shoulder pads, harem pants (canNOT believe my mother ever let me wear something by this name), and – you know – big belts and buckles and stuff. Ug. In junior high Jason and Stephan and I made a bet with Mrs. Schlapia, the home-ec teacher. She bet us a Pepsi each that we’d be wearing bell bottoms by our senior year in high school, because all trends come back around. She didn’t win. I wasn’t wearing them until a year or so after my senior year (and I seriously doubt Jason and Stephen ever succumbed). But I think she could have bet me again on the Eighties. I thought that era was a terrible phase for the universe, like the year I tried to be a tomboy. I thought we could ALL look at those pictures and say what-were-we-thinking, Never Again, and put down that Aussie hairspray immediately, Missie, you’re going to break something – like the Ozone.
So, anyway, you’ll forgive me, InStyle issue September 2009, if I don’t run out for an updated version of the harem pants trend, something that really should never have existed in the first place, even if you’ve spotted actual celebrities in them. (Mrs. Schlapia, if you’re reading, I’ll buy you the Pepsi this time if I ever eat these words. Ever.)
There is one thing, though, that I’m way psyched to have kept from the Era of Aussie, like, totally, and that’s my husband. He’s every-day proof that life is better when you have someone to champion for you all the time no matter what. And he’s guest-posting on my blog this week. He’s going to give his take on something I talk about quite a bit around here and affectionately call The Cancer Year. And when you read it, I think you’ll see why I’m such a proponent of – well – him.