March 2, 2008

You're not supposed to wear your grandma's clothes in New York

They weren't kidding when they said the boarding gate was far. Fifteen minutes of walking, the nice girls at the lounge said. It felt like more.

While I was berating myself for complaining about walking on the smooth and shiny airport floor when just last weekend I was trudging through mountain mud, I started to notice the people around me.

Couples. Korean couples. Korean couples wearing matching outfits.

The horror.

One couple wore striped Snoopy shirts with camo pants. One couple wore black and white hoodies with black shirts, jeans and white sneakers. One couple wore World Cup shirts with the word Italy emblazoned at the back.

It's just not right.

Speaking of horrendous outfits, you are not supposed to wear your grandma's suit in New York. But that's what I'm going to do.

Because the dress code requires business wear and the closest thing I have to that is a necktie I want to use for bondage a white long-sleeved shirt I bought on sale at Old Navy, in case I ever have to attend a funeral.

And so I raided grandma's closet. My grandma has power suits in all colors of the rainbow. It's pretty scary.

But because I'm going to New York, she said I have to abide by the city's uniform and wear black.

Really, grandma? Because you have an apple green suit and an ube-colored suit that I'm just dying to wear.

After an hour of trying on suit after suit after suit, I made my choices. Now, nestled amongst my scarves and coats and lacy underthings are a pin-striped suit and a black blazer and skirt combo.

Just the thought of me walking out of my hotel wearing those clothes are cracking me up.

Watch out, New York, a klutz in her grandma's suit will soon be polluting your streets.