The luck of the Lola

Let me start this entry by explaining that I have no fashion sense whatsoever. Part of the problem is that I wore a school uniform for 13 years and got used to not having to think about what to wear on a day to day basis.

As a result, I dislike fashion and clothing. You know how some girls have certain fashion aspirations - for example, to own a pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes? My single fashion-related wish is for a Great Depression style economic meltdown so that it might again become socially acceptable for one to kick around town wearing a hessian sack. Those really were the good old days.

When I started my new job, I needed to buy some new clothes. For me, clothes shopping involves going to the nearest department store, spending 15 minutes picking out the most unadventurous and inoffensive clothing that I can find, and paying for it without trying it on. Afterwards, I reward myself for having to endure the whole boring experience by buying myself a donut (or 3).

I wore one of my newer shirts to work today. Sometime around midday I was chatting with one of the paralegals when he snickered and said:

"What’s that on your shirt?"

I looked down, thinking I had spilled food without realizing it. And then… I saw it.

You guys, look at what some sick freak at the sweatshop put on my shirt. I guess the design is so small that I never noticed it when buying the stupid thing.



A friggin' shamrock? The hell? WHY?

So word got around about my Shamrock Shirt and for the rest of the day, I had to endure "Top o' the morning!", "Where's me lucky charm - ooh, 'tis on your shirt", etc from my comedian co-workers. Hilarious!

You can bet that tonight I’m going to riverdance myself on down to the store that sold the offending article to ask for a refund. And from now on I'm going to scrutinize all future shirt purchases for renegade shamrocks. To be sure, to be sure.