The entire fashion industry just may be a scam of monumental proportions. Each season dozens of influential designers probably gather in some secret location, where they see who can come up with the most outrageous fashion trend to be foisted off on a naive public with a fistful of credit cards.
How else can you explain platform shoes, thong panties, and yoga pants?
At this very moment, Calvin Klein could be suggesting with a smirk, “I know! How about a bra made of two dead, stuffed muskrats? I think I can get a kick-back from the taxidermy industry.”
It is primarily women who buy into this racket. Most men couldn’t care less what they are wearing. It has been my observation that most men think they look just fine no matter what they are wearing, which explains the lime green leisure suits of my earlier years, which were usually worn with a tie wide enough to upholster an ottoman. He is likely to still be wearing it on special occasions, in spite of the fact that he has put on 40 pounds since he bought it in 1972.
I figure now that I am a senior citizen, I have earned the right to tell Calvin and his buddies that from now on, I am going for comfort instead of style. I am going to be one of those old ladies you see at the grocery store in the middle of the day wearing a housecoat and slippers and not wearing her bra or her teeth.
I will be so happy in my comfort and contentment that I will give everyone I meet a hearty bosom-swinging wave and a gummy grin.
I am going to call Calvin Klein and tell him that I tried the dead muskrat bra trend and it was a fiasco. I did not have the heart to kill the muskrats. I just kept them heavily sedated and fastened to my chest with duct tape. Right in the middle of my bridge game at the senior center, the Valium wore off. They regained consciousness, gnawed through the duct tape, and scampered up the leg of Hiram’s lime green leisure suit and into his bushy gray chest hair. It took three days of searching through the underbrush with a weed wacker and a garden rake to find them.