And these are all being worn by yours truly. In a professional photo shoot. The first photo shoot my husband and I did as a family. He put these in the Christmas cards that year (2007) and I can never undo that damage. What has been seen, can not be unseen.
This was their first impression, as I have not (and probably will not) ever meet all of his family members. (And for the love of Christ will someone air drop some condoms to CatholicObligatorySexVille, Missouri? Who on earth has literally over a hundred cousins, all in the same small geographic area? Does NO ONE realize they can move? How do you date in that town? Do you go get a blood test together as your first official date? When you do date someone, do you half fear introducing her to your family, in case they ALREADY KNOW HER, from, you know, family reunions?)
Anyway, everyone else is dressed normal enough, if not a bit on the boring side, but at least it's not a boob belted tube top with baby-shit-colored corduroys and clogs that are questionably lesbian. I still had the stickers on the bottom of them too, which is a really elegant touch that lets everyone know I'm klassy. And this is just a weird angle to take a photo; I have gigantic neanderthal feet. STARE AT MY FEET. Stare, I say!
There is nothing good going on with me in this photo, but let's appreciate that the brown backdrop is *slightly* worse than my outfit. (Okay, maybe not really, but let me have this ONE thing).