Local Fug

I don't know about you, but I am totally hooked on Go Fug Yourself. 

I may not make a million dollars every time I step out of the door in front of a camera, but at least I don't dress like Helen Keller is my stylist and I don't own a full length mirror.

I used to be a fashionista.  Now I am boring.  To my credit, at least I don't go out in public with my naughty bits on display. I wear jeans and sweaters or sweatshirts to work or shorts and tee shirts with my stupid Red Wing work boots with the steel tip toes.  Boss the Father is a bit paranoid and you just never know when a wild unmanned dozer will come crashing through the window of the office and land right on my foot.  The Worker's Comp!  OH THE WORKER'S COMP!

Anyway.

I got my nails done Thursday and there were two young women in the nail salon and I was so hoping my Fred Flintstone Nextel phone would magically turn into a camera phone so I could sneak a picture of this alarming display of local Fug to post on my blog.  Much to my dismay, my phone is still the Fred Flintstone model.

Young Fug Number 1 was wearing a bright yellow camisole lace type garment.  I don't really know what else to call it, it wasn't a blouse or a tank top or a shirt of any sort.   Her black bra was showing all over.  This topped her very low low rider jeans that spectacularly displayed her tanned stretch marks and her obligatory lower back badly done tattoo.

Local Fug Number 2 had on a white tank top with a lovely hot pink bra.  I know her bra was hot pink because you could clearly see it through her tank top.  Being the more conservative of the two Fugs, she matched the monstrosity on the top with a pair of Capri's leaving no mystery as to what color thong she had on (blue) and those really silly platform foam rubber flip flops.

They caught me staring at this excessive display of Fugdom and Fug Number 1 gave me a really dirty look.  I'm sure they talked about me on the way home in the car over the gansta rap.  The conversation probably went something like this: " You are wearing a hoodie with (insert company I work for name here) on it, it's not designer, ugly khaki shorts, work boots with white socks you jealous bitch because I look so hot and so fine."

I may dress in a very boring manner, but at least the only people who are aware of my naughty bits are my myself, my husband and my doctor. 

And that's a good thing.

Comments

[pam]

I don't get it, either. It's a standard of fugly that we suburbanites only aspire to at home, in private, on laundry day!

And the juniors dept. at Wal-Mart is their Mother Ship.