I like you so much better when you're naked.

People need to tell me this more often, especially in these horrifically sweltering temperatures. It would make my sartorial choices so much simpler.


Yes, I'm aware it's August. And Chicago has had a surprisingly mild summer, so I should shut up. NO. I despise most things about heat, and the only thing that makes it better is the breeze my fingers create from flying across the keyboard while typing a heated rant. Sure, it's fun for the first few days, but then I start sticking to all sorts of surfaces, I'm sweaty, and thanks to the fact that my ghostly complexion knows no hues other than "Powder" and "What Up, Lobster?", I don't look easy, breezy, or beautiful from the months of June to August. Gross is the word that comes to mind for a description.

Now, I'm extra upset because I'm trying to figure out what to wear into the city tomorrow. My lovely friend Zac and I are meeting for a matinee (by the way, I'm 65 years old), and then wandering around in 87-degree heat. He's handsome as all get out, so I need to look decent so as to not embarass myself. But, because my fashion sense wilts along with everything else in this weather, I'm planning on royally embarassing myself. Current outfit options include a nightgown masquerading as a dress by layering it on top of...another nightgown, a criminally tiny t-shirt dress that will SURELY offer everyone a delightful view of my baby-makin' parts when the Windy City lives up to its name, and a bathing suit. Masquerading as nothing other than what it is. And this, my friends, is why fall needs to hurry up and get here. I own upwards of 25 scarves, 10 pairs of tights, and a whole mess of cardigans. All of which need to be worn soon, because my creative styling juices are gone. GONE, I SAY.

Help a sister out, Mother Nature. Send me 50-degree weather, and I swear I'll look adorable every day to thank you for it.