Miss Crankypants has never been bitten by the fashion bug. While everyone else on earth crowds the mall on the weekends, Miss CP is lounging in her writing cave, wearing the same ginormous T shirt and sweat pants she’s had since Moby Dick was knee-high to a minnow. What is it about writing that causes us to abandon all sense of what’s trendy?
It’s not that Miss Cranky is against haute couture. If Leisure Suits ever come back into style, she’s ready. Her closet is stuffed with clothing that could possibly be considered retro–the wardrobe folks from “That 70s Show” salivate at the idea that Miss Crankypants might take her stuff out of mothballs and donate the whole shebang:
She’s got go-go boots, mini skirts that get smaller every year, love beads and these cool little round sunglasses with blue lenses. Blue! Hip hugger jeans with holes that were earned the honest way! No factory distressed pants for this old hippie. And, get this: her peasant blouses came from real live peasants!
But Mr. Crankypants has her beat. He’s got a fringed leather suede jacket TO DIE FOR! He also owns a Sonny Bono vest, several “Nehru” jackets and a wonderful assortment of actual leisure suits made from all-man-made polyester and guaranteed to last until the sun goes nova. He’s got these indestructible outfits in tasteful colors: Avocado, Earth Brown, Harvest Gold. Miss Crankypants liked the suits so well, she went out and bought matching appliances!
With all this nostalgia, you’d think Ms. Cranky would find nothing to gripe about. But the next generation foments her like nobody’s business. First the kids want to know “Who’s Sonny Bono?” Then they parade around in her vintage clothing as if it was discovered in a Neanderthal burial cave.
“These pants are so tight!” Kid One exclaims. He walks around as if a broomstick is holding him up.
“In my day,” Miss CP grouses, “We wore clothing that actually fit.” She sniffs. “And hands off my peace medallion.”
“Ooh, look,” Kid Two gushes. “Platform heels! I’m Superfly!” Struts around holding an imaginary boom box on his shoulder.
Miss Crankypants can’t stand it. The Black Hole of Fashion opens wide and sucks her in, Leisure Suit and all.
