Why Don’t You? #79



Why don’t you begin planning out your garden for next year? Once you’ve pulled all the dead flowers, squashes, failed stalks of corn, and planted your autumn salad patch, you’ve got nothing to do but daydream until spring returns. Buy a few packets of seeds every week and start sketching out where your crops should go. Maybe start a few things inside. I’m crazy with the idea about growing an artichoke, but I let everything go until the last minute. Maybe this year will be different? I doubt it.


Why don’t you throw out all your pants and restock with a dozen pairs of black skinny jeans? They’re never going out of style! And everybody looks good in them. I’m not exaggerating. I only have two pairs and this is a serious hinderance to me. What if my blacks don’t match? What if your balls wear a hole through them…? (Long story. Always wear underwear.) What if, reader? It’s so important to look good. It’s more important than being good.


Why don’t you stop following my advice on buying only black clothing and get a veritable explosion of colors and patterns? I don’t know when it happened — I was doing so well with my blacks and dark floral prints, but I suddenly crave everything gaudy. I want shirts with prints that look like sofa covers from the 70s. I want pants that have polka dots. I want golden shoes and sheer shirts. I want to look artsy and ridiculous. I want to clash color and pattern. So, keep buying black, of course, but infuse it with the most ugly fashion you can find.


Why don’t you put a sewing kit into your bag? Everybody should carry a bag around with them no matter where they go. Leave it under your desk or in the car or wherever, but bring along some essentials, reader! Today, when I got to work, I discovered that I have a rather large hole in my leopard print shirt. I am devastated. But, I’m sure that it’s repairable. If I had a sewing kit, I could whipstitch it back together right now, but for the moment I will wallow in sadness. Don’t be like me, reader, bring needles and thread.


Why don’t you plan the perfect dinner party for you and five of your dream guests? I’d host mine somewhere chic with lots of candles and gold accents. We’d have a divine gourmet meal, finished with that peach dessert that I first had at the Palais de la Méditerranée in Nice, France. I’ve never had a better dessert. My guests would be the divine Martha Stewart, the inimitable Karl Lagerfeld, the witty and knowledgable Dr. Bob Brier, the irreverent Ru Paul, and of course, the iconic Dolly Parton. We would chat about fashion, travel, plastic surgery, the Universe, dirty charades, and ancient Egypt. (I’d interrogate Dr. Brier about the mummified foot found in the Step Pyramid.) I’d die happy. Who’s at your party?

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