There's No Accounting for Some People's Taste.

Two years ago, feeling very oh, what the hell, I wore a tutu to a somewhat casual New Year's Eve party.

It was my first time meeting the fiancé of a friend, and apparently this was the wrong way to get on the right foot with her. She turned her back on me in mid-introduction, and spent the rest of the evening alternately glaring at me and giving me the rear shoulder. We could chalk this up to my egocentric imagination, except that two other people noticed it and remarked about it to me later. Huh. Does my style offend? 

Now, I could go into detail about how her single, center french braid was so tightly woven that it tugged at her skull from widow's peak to nape of the neck, forcing a slight upturn of her lips, surely making it more difficult to pull off that scowl. I could address her severe misunderstanding of how black eyeliner should be applied. I could comment on her own gutsy choice of attire: snug Wrangler jeans, threadbare t-shirt, and filthy sneakers.

But that wouldn't be nice, would it?

PS: She won't be there this year. Shame.

Nothing says Hello 2013 like a pair of yeti boots!